


La Parrilla

by Salon_Kitty



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BDSM, F/M, M/M, Mindfuck, depictions of torture, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 00:23:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 39
Words: 281,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1531148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salon_Kitty/pseuds/Salon_Kitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gus Fring reflects on his great love and military past. But with his vengeance carried out, he's now looking forward - and he has a proposal for Jesse Pinkman.<br/>Takes place after the events of 'Salud' and partially into 'Crawl Space' before things go AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Proposal

 

 

_I do not believe fear to be an effective motivator._

_*_

                Sunlight daggers glinting off an aquamarine surface burn his eyes. Bodies drop to the pebbled patio like wet seals beached by the tide. The women stampede to the cars on thundering clicks of their heels, a herd of scorpions leaving dollar bills in their wake. " _Don Eladio está muerto_! _Sus capos están muertos!_

 

                Jesse Pinkman pressed fingers to his eyelids, rubbing out the last of the images from his Mexican tour-of-duty as he stood waiting on Fring’s front porch. The evening had brought a chill along with the dusky sky and Jesse shoved his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket, curling his shoulders inward to harness his body’s lingering warmth. He recalled the heat bearing down on him during the ensuing melee by the pool, asphalt vapors across his vision as Gus’s poison laid waste around him. He shivered, outstretched a finger to ring the bell again, but the door opened and Gus was before him, that placid, implacable expression belying the fury that Jesse knew was there in his depths. He’d seen it unleashed only days before as Gus took down an entire squad of the cartel in his vengeance, yet here he was about to enter the man’s house on a civil invitation to dinner, a reward bestowed for a job well done. The fear and exhilaration of their escape had mitigated over the six-mile hike to the Texas border, followed by a dazed return to the normal upon his arrival home, but seeing Gus’s face brought that dizzying chaos right back to his senses.

 

                “Jesse, I’m very happy to see you. Do come in.”

 

                There it was again – that odd flutter in his core whenever Gus spoke to him like he was important, somehow; a valued member of his team. Jesse didn’t quite know what to make of the turnaround, what prompted his ascension from contemptible junkie to the ranks of the guard. During that first dinner with Gus, Jesse had still carried the doubts that Mr. White had implanted in his mind, his ire quick to ignite as soon as he felt the man’s cold manipulation to cook Walt’s formula. Yet Gus had been fair with him, had explained the situation as if Jesse were his equal – _like men_ – while the same could hardly be said of his supposed mentor. Walt had wanted Jesse to fail – to end up in a barrel in the Mexican desert – but on a subversive level, Jesse knew that he _had_ failed Mr. White. The truth of it was that he was simply not prepared to murder a man who filled him with the sustaining high of acceptance and self-worth.

 

                “I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t bring a bottle of wine or nothing. I shouldn’t really be drinking anyway, and … I wouldn’t have any clue what would be good.”

 

                Gus led him to the kitchen as he spoke, several pans sizzling on the stove. “Do not give it a thought, Jesse. I have a fully stocked cellar already. And you must be absolutely diligent to not compromise your sobriety. I should never have offered you a glass the last time you were here. That was careless of me.”

 

                “Yeah, well … it’s no big deal. Outside of beer, I’ve never been much of a drinker, anyway.”

 

                There was music playing, just as before, only instead of the soft jazz that had eased through surround sound speakers he could hear a woman wrenching out an emotional ballad in Spanish, or Mexican, or something. Even though he couldn’t understand the words, the intensity of feeling coming from all sides left him strangely uneasy. He glanced around at the ceiling’s corners searching for the source.

 

                “Is the music too loud? I can turn it down,” Gus said as he returned to the culinary symphony on his stove, wielding a wooden spoon like a conductor’s baton.

 

                “Nah, it’s fine. I can deal. Hey, uh, did you need any help with anything?” He felt useless and nervous, his hands back in his pockets fingering his keys. Jesse rocked on his sneakers, not sure what to do with himself. Gus seemed to sense his fidgeting, turning suddenly while using his spoon as a pointer.

 

                “Please, take a seat, Jesse. Dinner should be ready shortly. Can I get you anything?”

 

                Jesse reached into his back pocket as he pulled out a chair at the table, retrieving his cigarettes. He tried not to think about the ricin still stuffed inside the body of the upturned one. “Um, just water is okay. Or soda, if you got it. Is it okay if I smoke?”

 

                “I’m so sorry, but I would prefer it if you wouldn’t in here.”

 

                He bent his head in deference. “No worries, man. I can wait till after dinner to smoke one outside. I’m, uh, trying to cut down, anyway.” He’d had no plans to do any such thing and wasn’t sure why he had said so. Perhaps he just wanted Gus to think he was making an attempt at improvement.

 

                “It is a hard habit to give up. I used to smoke incessantly when I was younger, but that came with being in the military. Cigarettes were a way to mark off time.”

 

                “Aw, no way, man. You were in the army? I can totally see that.”

 

                “Not exactly,” Gus replied, bending to pull the silver pan from under the broiler. It looked like chicken from what Jesse could see. Gus was quiet as he arranged the food on two plates, and Jesse imagined that there would be nothing more on the subject. Then Gus resumed talking as he brought their food to the table. “My father was a general. We were expected to follow in his footsteps in my family. At least his sons were.”

 

                “Oh, you got brothers?” It was bizarre to think of Gus as someone’s child. He didn’t even know if the guy had his own family. He hadn’t seen any photos hanging in the foyer. He glanced at the refrigerator as Gus stepped away from it, saw a Polaroid under a magnet too far away to reveal anything other than skin-toned oval shapes pressed together. A watercolor of a flower hung below it.

 

                “Had. My brother was murdered under Pinochet’s rule.” Gus came back to the table with a Coke can for Jesse, a corked bottle of white wine in his other hand. “He would have done many wonderful things for the country had he lived.”

 

                “Wow. That’s heavy, man. What happened to him?”

 

                Gus waited until he’d pulled his napkin open and spread it on his lap before answering, pinching the stem of his wine glass and twisting it until the golden liquid swirled around, a tempest oscillating against the sides of the bowl.

 

                “He died in a car bombing.” There was silence again as Gus brought the glass to his nose, inhaled deeply. He took a sip, savoring the taste, then grabbed his knife and fork with the relish of a hungry man. “I hope you brought an appetite. This is an old friend’s recipe.”

 

                “Yeah, sure,” Jesse answered, following Gus’s lead. He took a tentative bite, the steam still rising from his fork. The chicken was really good.

**

 

                Jesse sat stiffly on Gus’s couch, staring at the earthen colored paintings of workers bent in fields while wondering if he could make his excuses to get home without appearing too rude. He’d thought of slinking off to his car during a smoke outside on the deck while Gus washed up in the kitchen, but the idea had been fleeting, the screeching of the cicadas seeming to advise against it. He did work for the guy, after all. It was hard to control his fit of tics, however, and he squirmed in his seat, pinching at his jeans over knees that couldn’t stop bouncing.

 

                “I would offer you a cigar,” Gus said as he shifted around the coffee table and sat down beside him. “But I am afraid I gave that up, too. It is a vile habit, but I miss the aroma. It holds a lot of memories.”

 

                Jesse thought of the thick cigar that one of the hotties at Don Eladio’s poolside had pried into his mouth. “Uh, no worries. I’m, uh, fine, really.” His awkwardness heightened as Gus calmly leaned across Jesse’s lap and took hold of a polished box at the other end of the table. Jesse pressed himself into the cushions at his back, watching Gus offer him some chocolate with a mounting sense of the surreal.

 

                “Can I offer a mint, instead?”

 

                “Uh, yeah. I mean, no, I don’t need anything else, I’m good. I, uh, should probably get going –”

 

                “Jesse, I invited you here because I wanted to speak with you. We have shared another meal, broken bread together, as a show of my appreciation and gratitude for your actions in Juárez.” Gus curved a hand over Jesse’s knee, stopping it cold. “You impressed me down there. Not just in the lab and with Don Eladio’s men, but getting us to my doctor and his team. It would seem I owe my life to you. I take that debt very seriously, Jesse.” Long, elegant fingers rubbed insistently at his knee, and Jesse felt a curious tingle run over the top of his leg, through his groin, and to the small of his back. “You should be rewarded. I knew you could do it, saw the promise you held, but you far exceeded my expectations.”

 

                “Well, I can’t imagine you’d have been expecting much from a junkie loser.” He knew he sounded petulant, but he wasn’t willing to forget that Gus had wanted him dead not too long ago.

 

                Gus straightened, pulled his glasses off to clean them with the deliberation of the meticulous. “I am not so prideful a man that I cannot admit when I am wrong, Jesse. I wanted to see how you would do away from the toxic influence that Walter seems to have over you, and you have proven that you are of significant worth to me and my business. I feel you will do quite well in your new role at the lab.”

 

                Jesse drew a deep breath and held it for a moment, gathering the courage to ask Gus what had been plaguing him since that night in the cafe, a returning whisper in his head whenever there had been a spare moment to think – and Jesse had a lot of those. “Can I ask you something? What did you … like, what did mean when you said that … that you saw something in me? Like, you just thought I’d be a good replacement for Mr. White? Was that it? Why’d you have me driving all over town with Mike, then?”

 

                Gus affixed the wire frames over his ears, looked up to gaze right into him. “I see more than that.” He reached up to touch Jesse’s face and Jesse flinched instinctively, saw blood spurts and lime green box cutters. Gus froze, hand in midair, a reptilian smile at his lips. The moment passed and Jesse visibly relaxed, allowing Gus to lightly stroke the bruise on the side of his face, its yellowing center a sun in a purple sky.

 

                “Walter is still a problem,” he said coldly.

 

                A twinge of panic landed in Jesse's chest, a tiny bird pecking at his lungs until Jesse reminded himself to breathe. Gus was scary and terrifying, but when he wasn’t slicing people’s throats he was mostly reasonable. “Hey, I already told you alls I have to say on the matter. Nothing _final_ happens to Mr. White or we don’t got a deal. If you want me to keep cooking for you, then you need to let him go, simple as that. The guy may be an asshole, but he doesn’t deserve to get whacked.”

 

                Gus didn’t say anything, his eyes speaking for him as they bore into Jesse’s own, leaving Jesse feeling as if he were being squeezed between slides under a microscope’s glare. A fingertip brushed over Jesse’s battered cheek again, feather light, before Gus cupped his jaw and fingers dug into the already broken blood vessels, the pain making Jesse hiss. He started to pull back but suddenly there was more Gus than he’d ever thought to handle right in his face, and Jesse understood with a dawning horror that he was about to be kissed just as wet, full lips were pressed against his own. He was shocked into stillness for a second, his eyes widening as the kiss grew insistent, before a dull roar filled him and he pushed at the man’s chest, breaking the seal at his mouth.

 

                “What the hell, yo! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he yelled in outrage.

 

                Gus seemed unfazed, although the glossy black of his eyes were lit up like a tweaker’s. “I was doing as I said. Showing you my appreciation.”

 

                “Oh, what, you ain’t ever heard of a handshake? I mean, that’s like, whaddya call it, _presumptuous_ , don’t you think? Getting all up in my grill without even asking?” He scooted forward on the sofa, feeling that the night had taken a direct dive into the weird and that it was definitely time to make his exit. He felt a grip on his leg attempting to keep him in place and he glared at Gus with defiance, feeling stupid once more as Mr. White’s taunts came back to him in an instant. _And this has to be you? It **has** to be Jesse Pinkman. Why? What, is there something about you I don’t know? _ Mr. White had been right; Gus hadn’t seen anything special in him, he’d simply seen a twink piece of ass that he wanted to lay. It was a sick joke that twisted inside Jesse like a stick wrapped in barb wire, bringing angry tears that he refused to let loose.

 

                “Get your fucking hands off me,” he said threateningly, his voice gruff.

 

                “Jesse, look at me. You need to calm down. You are having an overreaction to the moment. I need you to see things as they are. Think of this as a negotiation. You’ve set your terms of the agreement, and I am setting mine.”

 

                He gaped back at Gus as the meaning became clear, his mouth open but no coherent thought able to make its way out. A cold wave passed through him. “Wha— _what?”_ Gus couldn’t possibly be expecting what it sounded like. "What are you talking  about?"

 

                “It is rather simple. You want me to spare Walter. I need you to cook for me. But … there is something in you, Jesse. And I want to see more of it. I would like to propose that you enter into an arrangement with me.”

 

                His body scrunched up, shoulders raised to his ears and hands splayed with spastic fingers. “Like what? What kind of arrangement? Like, the kind where I bend over and take it up the ass? Uh, no … No, I can’t say ‘s I’m gonna be down for that, man. I ain’t no homo, number one.”

 

                Gus laughed – a sound as foreign as Mr. White’s respect. “What does this matter? I am not concerned with your preference, Jesse. This is about what you can do for _me.”_

 

                “Look, dude – I got a girlfriend, alright? I mean, I’m not interested in getting my ass cherry popped by the dude I work for or anybody else, for that matter. Enough already, Jesus.” He stood up, the offense trailing through him like a flame along a fuse. He still felt sickened by the twist, feeling the sting of rejection even as his body was being bargained for. Gus stood up, too, gripping Jesse’s wrist tight enough to hurt until Jesse ripped it away. “You think I’m gonna stick around for this shit? What, I don’t do what you want and you kill Mr. White? Well, guess what, homes. Then you ain’t got no cook for your multi-billion dollar drug operation.”

 

                “You are not listening,” Gus hissed. “Sit. Down.” His jaw was jut out, that Terminator look back in his face, and Jesse saw the hands outstretched, the bullets pinging off the sand. His legs bent slowly, feeling the cushion too soon as it squashed under his weight.

 

                “I will compensate you well for your continued work as my cook. More money than you are currently making. But do not naively believe that you are in control of this situation, Jesse. Do you honestly think that if I refuse your demands to keep Walter alive, you will be allowed to simply walk away? This would be an extremely foolish decision and I am not a foolish man. I have indulged you long enough.”

 

                “Oh, you were _indulging_ me. Taking me down to Mexico to scare the shit out of me and possibly get me stuck there as some kind of meth monkey. Then involving me in your super villain plan of wiping out half the Cartel with some poisoned tequila shots and not telling me anything? _Yeah._ Totally indulging me, there. So, now I’m supposed to … what, be your buttboy _and_ your cook or you go all Scarface on Mr. White? What kind of bullshit is this?”

 

                “If you take a moment to stop your hysterics and listen to what I am saying, then I will explain it you,” he said slowly, that gravelly accented enunciation on every syllable. Gus took a long breath, his features softening. He widened the stretch of his hands inclusively, his voice returning to normal. “I am not asking for a strictly sexual arrangement, Jesse. I need you only one day a week. But on this day, you will be at my complete disposal. I will have you, mind and body, for twenty-four hours, to do with as I wish. This is my condition. If you do not accept all of these terms, then things will move forward very quickly.”

 

                Jesse swallowed and broken glass scraped along his throat. “What’ll happen?” he croaked.

 

                “I will have Walter killed. I will have him hung by knives, his skin flayed like a cow’s. I will gouge out his eyes as he whispers for death then cut out his tongue and feast on it.”

 

                Jesse sat stunned, airless and numb as Gus went on.

 

                “And if you refuse to cook, I will do the same to Walter’s entire family, starting with the DEA agent.”

 

                He jolted forward, a sudden ringing in his ear, his quickening pulse making him dizzy. “What? Why? Why would you target them? They didn’t do anything!”

 

                Gus leaned back with a cold stare, propped folded hands on his lap. “Because I can,” he said, each clipped word a deadly oath.

 

                “But for what? For a fuck? Seriously? Like, you can’t pay someone else? I mean, Christ, buy a whole truckload of rent boys, if you want, and fuck them all night. Why the hell would you threaten to kill someone over me? You didn’t even _like_ me before I saved your ass down in Mexico.”

 

                “I do not wish for rent boys. I want you. And you are mistaken, Jesse. You are seeing this all wrong. I am not making threats, I am making assurances. If you try to stop cooking, this is what will happen. What we are negotiating now is whether or not you wish to save Walter’s life. My proposal still stands. If you want me to leave him alone, then you will satisfy my end of the deal.” He suddenly flashed one of those creepy Stepford smiles he reserved for his customers. “Of course, I will give you time to think about it. You can give me your answer when I see you again. Two days from now.”

 

                Dread filled Jesse like hardening cement. “But why? Why would you want … _me?”_

                The smile softened, turned warm as melted butter. “You remind me of someone I knew. Someone that meant a great deal to me.” Gus took hold of his shoulder and Jesse jumped in his skin. “I told my man once that I do not believe fear to be an effective motivator, not if I want investment. I still subscribe to this maxim. And I believe you are worth the investment, Jesse. But there is also the way that the world must work, the way _men_ work, and you need to understand your place in this world.”

 

***

 

                Jesse floated to the front door, unable to feel his feet. Gus was chattering beside him as he escorted him out, but Jesse couldn’t hear him, either. All he could sense were the sights and sounds of the lab on the night he killed Gale, Mr. White bathed in that hellish red light like a scene from a horror movie. _You kill Jesse, you don’t have me._

                Once he made it to his car, he sat staring out through the windshield for a while, the street lights casting shadows of their poles as long bluish beams that stretched across the street and over yards like looming giants, a stagnant army of evil poised for invasion. Gus’s house was still lit, a great, wary beast, the most evil of them all.

 

                Jesse pulled his hips off his seat, angled them so that he could slip the cigarettes from his back pocket. He opened the carton’s lid. Stared at the upturned cigarette for another five minutes before slowly inserting the key in the ignition. He revved the engine then drove off on the skid of his tires, a scream of white hot fury let loose into the night.


	2. The Hook

 

_There will be an appropriate response_

               

Gustavo Fring was a man of careful consideration. More importantly, he was a _patient_ man. He was a plotter, above all things, and to plot was to appreciate intricacy and protraction, to be willing to master ability in the art of the slow burn, but mostly it meant enduring long stretches of exquisite loneliness as necessary pieces took epochs to fall into place. It was a trait not suited to the weak-willed.

 

Gus slipped the tongue of his tie through its loop and tugged it into a perfect knot, adjusting the silk around his neck in the full-length mirror. The cobalt blue stood out starkly against the sunshine yellow of his shirt, a color palette meant to stand in for a personality. He smiled reassuringly to himself in the glass. It was going to be a good week. His vengeance had come to fruition and its aftermath had brought about a munificent tide. Opportunities had been revealed in the wake like fat buoys bobbing to the surface. Seeing Hector’s twisted, clownish face at the news of Joaquin’s death had been as great and satisfying as watching Eladio’s dawning expression seconds before dropping dead into the pool, and those moments had played on a loop for him every night since as he’d slipped into dreams. It was regretful that he would need to let Walter walk away – he had been looking forward to destroying that  _cabrón arrogante_ – but what he was getting in return was worth a lot more.

 

Gus glided down the stairs and into the kitchen. The red light blinking on the espresso machine signaled its heated reservoir and Gus scooped out a measured cupful of Arabica beans and put them into the hopper of his grinder, switching it on while simultaneously dropping a pat of butter into a frying pan. He efficiently prepared his breakfast and ran his shot, whistling as he worked. His thoughts returned to his conversation with Pinkman the night before as Gus concluded that the odds of him acceding to the arrangement would be high. It had been unfortunate that Pinkman had responded so poorly to his advances, though not at all dire. There had been a moment when he’d thought it possible that Pinkman could have been receptive, that Gus might have benefited from the air of opportunism that often clung to the young man, but he’d quickly shown himself to be as typically limited in his scope of the sexual scale as most of the men in this country. Gus had instantly shifted to a bolder and more effective tactic, one that never failed. He needed Pinkman secured first then he could go to work on the emotional fragility of his subject.

 

For Pinkman possessed soft insides that needed to be strengthened, marbleized into columns and lacquered to an impenetrable sheen. It would not be like Max again – Gus would not allow it. He saw a vision of the beautiful boy Maximino had been, that face that had stopped him in his tracks on his way to Londres, Treinta y Ocho for months; saw the mouthy youth that had teased Gus with a confidence that was staggering in the throng of the filthy and reviled. In the years that they spent together, Max had continued to flourish, his beauty and confidence only increasing with every milestone in their lives. But Gus had never been able to make Max understand man’s true nature, nor the business they ran, had never pushed him to his full, _necessary_ potential. Gus had been seduced not just by a face, but a spirit as free as time, and he had wanted to capture it, to hold it and cherish it, but only once he was gone did Gus realize that Max had never really been his. It had been the other way around. Gus would not make the same mistake again.

 

As he pulled into the parking lot of the Coors Road restaurant, the dawn sky imperceptibly brightening, he noticed a light out in the giant sign by the street, the poncho of Max’s counterpart disturbingly dark. He made a mental note to have Cynthia call the company for a replacement bulb. He saw her car already parked and hoped he could pull her aside for a quick meeting before they opened for business. The pocket of Gus’s windbreaker vibrated. He flipped open his phone and scanned the message. Mike was doing better. He could be back by next week. Gus was pleased by the news – this gave him more time to spend with Pinkman while the boy was still on his own.

 

“ _Buenos días,_ Cynthia. It’s good to see you again.” He greeted her heartily as he stepped through the door, infused by his good fortune. Cynthia looked up from the table she was wiping down with a perfunctory smile.

 

“Good morning, Gus. How was your trip?” Cynthia was not a person to ever be categorized as warm, but she was capable and determined, qualities that Gus valued over demeanor.

 

“ _Maravilloso_ ,” he replied, his mouth stretching wider. He would never understand some of these Mexican transplants who insisted on adopting all of the _gringo_ ways. Cynthia barely spoke a word of Spanish unless a translation was needed for a customer. She insisted on her American-ness as if it were something to be proud of.

 

“I called the sign company about the burned out light bulb. They weren’t open yet, of course, but I left a message. I’ll have that taken care of before the end of the day.”

 

“Thank you very much, Cynthia. Have the fryers been filled yet?”

 

“Yes, sir. Mark will be in soon to get the prep done and I’ve got Trina and Jill opening. I’m just starting with the checklist before I get the tills counted.”

 

“Excellent. Well, I have some papers stacking up in my office that need my attention now that I’m back, so I will leave you to it unless you have need of me. Knock on my door if you require any assistance. And let me know when the others are here and we will go over the next few schedules.”

 

She nodded eagerly. “Of course. I’ll be fine, though. Tuesdays are pretty slow in the mornings, anyway.”

 

He left her and headed to the back of the restaurant where his office was located. Gus unlocked his door, took note of his in-basket, flipping casually through the mail Cynthia had deposited before he'd left for Juarez. He picked up the envelope with the Madrigal logo embossed in the left hand corner, glanced at the Houston address and assumed it was from Lydia, probably stuffed with bills of lading for the upcoming methylamine shipment. He would need to contact Peter, assure him that production would no longer be affected by the machinations of the cartel. Perhaps he could even procure another invitation to Hanover, maybe bring along his protégé if things proceeded as anticipated.

 

The laptop at his desk was quickly split open, the login screen presenting itself with its familiar twang. Gus tapped away for a few minutes, waited for the video feeds to connect at all four cameras before clicking on the lab’s lower right corner square. He programmed the camera to scan from side to side, surveying the whole floor, but of course it would be too early for Pinkman. He and Walt typically sauntered in with the laundry’s first shift. His morning wouldn’t begin for another few hours at least. But Gus preferred early risings, a holdover from his life in Santiago. Even before he and Mateo had been sent off to the military academy, their father had disciplined his children to be up at the crack of dawn. Mateo had hated it, and Gus often believed it had been this monumental objection at the root of his brother’s defection. Yet there had been ample evidence to suggest that Mateo had hated General Pinochet as much as he had hated Alejandro, and Gus sighed with longing at the memory of his brother’s murder. He hadn’t thought about that day in years, but Pinkman’s visit had stirred up something in Gus, had him reflecting on his past in a way that he hadn’t expected. A sentimental streak had run through him, had left him aching for faces that had disappeared decades ago, and for a moment, Gus heard a rush of voices and cries in his ears, the sounds of screams and begging that sometimes invaded his dreams aloft in the airless room as if someone had opened a door.

 

In the next breath, he discounted it as nothing more than a wave of nostalgia and clicked on another box, searching the grounds of the chicken farm for any signs of Schrader’s arrival. It would only be a matter of time, and without Mike on hand, Gus would have to improvise, employ a preemptive strike before Walter could intervene. It had become too large of a problem and he would need to deal with it soon; even Pinkman’s protestations would have to be ignored. Moving on to his emails, his spirit immediately lifted at the sight of Remedios’ name in his inbox. He would make the attempt to go and see her this year, now that matters had settled. While Gus loved both of his daughters, he knew with certainty that Victoria was lost to him. She had firmly taken sides with her mother, and Gus had run out of ways to sway her. It didn’t help that she was so political, refusing to speak to her father on the grounds of his supposed abuses, but she had no proof, only insidious whispers from her mother to lead her astray. Remedios had been his favorite, his great love, from the moment she had been born, and one of Gus’s biggest regrets was not being in either of their lives enough. But the country had been different then, and sending them away had felt necessary. He fled to Mexico with Maximino, believing that he was keeping them all protected, but misjudged the lions he had chosen to do business with.

 

The phone rang, bringing him out of his reverie, and Gus retrieved it from his jacket, hanging on the back of his chair. He checked the name on its face.

 

“Yes, Tyrus?” he answered, already a note of concern in his voice.

 

“He’s up early today. Just left. Looks like he’s going straight to work, I’m watching him turn down fifth – he’s got to be heading to the expressway.”

 

“Thank you, Tyrus. That will be all for this morning, go and get some rest. I’ll have the truck ready for him. Be at Brillante by three thirty and I’ll have further instructions for you. The man you have on Walter’s house – you can send him home, too.” He shut the phone with a snap and tossed it to his desk, watching it tumble over letterheads and applications. Gus gazed back at the screen of his laptop, selected the box that featured the red floors and chrome-bellied beasts of his underground lab and waited for Pinkman’s arrival.

 

**

 

It was afternoon when the cell phone rang again. This time it was a frantic Dennis on the other end. Gus listened silently as Dennis explained the accident that had taken place in front of the laundry, how he had immediately recognized Walter’s Aztek, had seen Schrader being pulled from the passenger side once the ambulance arrived. Gus gripped the phone tighter, wanted to feel it crushed in his hand to dust. His breathing grew heavier as Dennis concluded the event, insisting that Walter had never pulled into the laundry’s entrance but had driven straight past before turning into an oncoming car.

 

“Keep me posted on any further news,” he told his man before hanging up. He cursed the fact that Mike was still in Mexico. Schrader would need to be disappeared as soon as it was possible. He picked up the phone on his desk, holding its slim body like a weapon, and punched in the lab’s number.

 

“We need eyes on the agent again,” he said simply. “Have someone there by tonight. How are things at the laundry?” Gus watched Tyrus on the feed as Tyrus turned back to watch Pinkman climb up the side of a vat.

 

“Heard we had trouble upstairs. Otherwise, it’s been quiet in here.” Gus watched as Pinkman twisted his body to address Tyrus.

 

“Hey, is that Gus? I need to speak to him,” he heard Pinkman shout through the phone’s receiver.

 

“You get that?” Tyrus asked.

 

“Put him on,” Gus said, not in the mood for Pinkman’s tone. He watched as the young man forcefully took the mobile out of Tyrus’s grip.

 

“Hey, we need to talk. Before, uh, you know, before the two days, or whatever.”

 

“I am currently busy, Jesse,” he explained sternly.

 

“Yeah? And why’s that? You do something with Mr. White?” The edge in Pinkman’s voice escalated along with the volume.

 

“I have not laid a finger on your precious partner. However, as is usually the case, he has caused many complications. It appears that there was an automobile accident just outside of the laundry’s entrance. Walter and his brother-in-law were taken away in an ambulance. Nothing serious, unfortunately.”

 

“What? What are you talking about? Mr. White brought Schrader _here?”_

 

“It certainly looks that way. I have to send Tyrus to the hospital to acquire more information before I can determine anything. What is it you need, Jesse?”

 

There was a pause, and Gus could see Pinkman shift his weight from foot to foot as he stood awkwardly by the wall, glancing up at Tyrus before turning his back to the man. “Um … I got questions. Before I can give you an answer, okay? I just … I just need some, uh, assurances. And, um … _clarification_? I guess.” His voice had become muffled, as if he were trying to keep Tyrus from overhearing by speaking as closely into the mouthpiece as space allowed.

 

Gus took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose loudly. “Meet me at the restaurant when you are done for the day. Talk to my assistant manager and she will send you to my office. Will that be acceptable?”

“Yeah, whatever, man.” Pinkman handed the phone back to Tyrus and stomped away on padded feet.

_***_

 

“What is it you wish to know?”

 

Gus had pushed his chair back so he could face Pinkman, who sat across from him with a deep insolence displayed in his pose, his rear end slunk low on his seat with legs splayed open, an arm bent over the chair’s back. Tyrus had not called back yet and Gus fought the urge to jiggle a foot as the time ticked away.

 

“This, uh, twenty four hour thing. Just how does that work, exactly?”

 

“How does this work?” Gus asked, the strike of condescension impossible to mask. He did not have time for this, but he needed to be delicate. “You would arrive at a time that I have given and you would leave exactly twenty four hours later. This is how.”

 

“Yeah, okay, but … like that means, I gotta stay all night? And if it’s a whole day, does that mean I give you one less day of production? Or I have to give up my own free time?”

 

“I must have two hundred pounds a week. That is the agreement. With only yourself to do the work and no partner for the time being, I hardly see how you can reduce your hours.”

 

“Oh, so it is my time. Am I gonna get compensated for that? ‘Cause, technically, that would count as my day off.”

 

Gus was already tired of the discussion. “Your compensation is that Walter gets to breathe for another day. Isn’t that what you want?”

 

Pinkman’s eyes widened, turned glassy, and he blinked several times before crossing his arms. “ _Fine,_ ” he said through gritted teeth. “But how long does this go on then? Indefinitely? I mean, seriously, yo, is this supposed to be like a forever deal?”

 

“I never suggested it would be. Let us start with, say … three months. We can re-negotiate future terms at the end of it.”

 

He sat up straight, gripping the edge of his chair. “Three _months?_ And what do you mean, _future terms?_ You get to extend it if you want? How is that not playing for keeps? I ain’t no dog on a leash.”

 

Gus waved a hand in front of him, wishing this to be resolved without incurring a fit from his young cook. “This simply means that you may have a need for things to continue. I was being completely genuine when I said that I owed you my life, Jesse. I am not trying to punish you in this matter. In many ways, you could see this as an … opportunity.”

 

Pinkman narrowed his eyes, his forehead creasing. “Opportunity?” he repeated dully. “ _Really?_ So you think I’m – what, like some kind of whore?” He looked deeply offended by the idea.

 

“Well, not a moment ago you asked to be paid for this service.”

 

“Jesus, I didn’t ask for payment to blow you! I said _my time_ , like, I’m giving you my … whatever the fuck, I don't know. I got … you know, people that,” he shut his mouth with a snap, looked off to the window as he scraped his teeth, his jaw jut out to one side. His knee began to bob up and down at a maddening speed. “You said it wasn’t just sex. Like, what does _that_ mean? And what the hell am I supposed to do if you want … my mind, too. What the fuck is that? _Mind and body?_ You get to do whatever you want to me and I have no say in the matter, like, _at all?_ How do I know – like, I don’t know what you’re into, man. Is this gonna involve … fuck, I don’t know, just _what_ is it you want?”

 

Gus followed Pinkman’s increasing agitation with a clinical eye. The more his nervousness grew, the calmer Gus felt. He had seen this played out so many times, knew intuitively when they were ready to let go. His charge needed to be put at ease, needed the strong hand of guidance that only Gus could provide. Walter hadn’t known how to control his partner, hadn’t seen what Pinkman could offer, but Gus knew exactly what to do with him, could see what the young man yearned for in every act of desperation. He smiled at Pinkman.

 

“I want … everything. All that you have, Jesse.” He leaned forward in his chair, the creak that accompanied his movement the only sound over the hum of traffic outside. “There may be use of … restraints. I am fond of schedules. Some … discipline. I exalt cleanliness to a fault, I admit. I would expect to participate in this task.”

 

He was met with a hard, glacial stare. “A bath? You want to give me a bath? Or what – you’ll spank me?” It was quiet for a beat as Pinkman waited for an answer. Gus smiled at him again and Pinkman exploded out of his chair. “Are you _fucking serious?!”_

 

“Jesse, sit down.”

 

“No! No, I will not sit down. What are you gonna do about it? Handcuff me to your fucking desk?” He waved angrily at the door. “Want to call in your employees and they can hold me down? Is that your thing, you sick freak? Jesus, why did I even listen to you? I should have seen this bullshit coming for miles. Yeah, I’m fucking special, alright.” He moved to leave but Gus stood in his way.

 

“Jesse, you _need_ to keep your voice down. _Right now._ We are in my place of business, with patrons outside, and I demand you act appropriately.” Gus pointed behind Pinkman. “Please. Sit down. Let us discuss this like rational adults. You have to remove emotion from your thinking. I understand you are feeling manipulated, but you _do_ need to listen. I am not your enemy, Jesse.”

 

“Oh, sure, you’re my buddy, Gus. Yeah, kill Mr. White or kill me, you don’t even fucking care, do you? We're, like, interchangeable. It’s all about what we can give you and how _useful_ we are at the moment. I guess I’m supposed to be the lucky one, now, huh? But how long’s that gonna last?”

 

Gus stepped closer, put his hands on Jesse’s face to calm him down, brushing his fingers against the man’s cheek. He stiffened instantly, tried to back away, but Gus held him in his grip.

 

“Jesse, you _are_ special to me. I said that I saw something in you and I meant that. Look at you now. You have _fire_ in your soul. In your eyes I see strength. You are more powerful than even you realize. When I made an example of Victor, Walter cowered in fear, but you … you held my gaze, bared your teeth like a wolf. You showed me your true self, Jesse. I had seen it before, but I’d been too angry to take heed. You alone said no to me – standing as a man even after Walter betrayed your trust. He ran to me as soon as you told him your plan. Wasted no time informing me, like the _soplones_ I dealt with back home, little whispers from little men.” He caressed the curve of Pinkman’s jaw, ran a thumb over his bottom lip to the young man’s dismay. “And in front of Vuentes’ chemists, you _shined_. You were a pillar of golden light. You killed _Joaquin_ for me, Jesse, helped me destroy my hated enemy. I do not forget such things. Not ever.”

 

He watched Pinkman swallow, saw the boy’s eyes dart to the door. “You, uh, wanna let go of me?” Gus pushed him backwards until his legs hit the chair, but Pinkman straightened himself again, wouldn’t bend to sit down. Gus took hold of his waist and twisted him in the other direction, pushed until Pinkman backed into the towering filing cabinet, jostling the spinning fan that sat atop it and knocking a coffee cup on its side.

 

“No, I do not wish to let go. I wish for you to open your mouth,” he said, his voice low and hungry. “Is this acceptable to you?”

 

“Fucking Christ,” Pinkman swore. “Do I get a choice?”

 

Gus kissed him before he could speak again, crushed those white boy lips to his own, his tongue already prying them open. Pinkman made a note of protest, choked as Gus grabbed his head then spread their mouths wider. He flattened himself against Pinkman until his pelvis was flush with the boy’s, and he thrust once, groping fingers finding the nub of a nipple under cotton and pinching it with the unrelenting pressure of a steel clamp. Pinkman’s body jerked, but he didn’t recoil, his mouth still slack as Gus sucked on his tongue as though he were slurping an oyster from its shell. He wanted to take him in this moment, throw Pinkman over his desk and feast on his _gringo_ ass, but it was too soon and Pinkman was already spooked enough.

 

He stepped away, let go of the boy with a parting stroke over the mouth now hanging open in shock.

 

“You may go, Jesse. I have other matters to attend to.” He turned to his desk, his dismissal clear, and before he had even reached his office chair he heard the door click behind him, the sound of running footsteps fading as they skidded to the end of the hall and rounded the corner.

 

Gus sat down and flattened his tie against his shirt, running his hands down his torso to iron out the creases. There was no question that Pinkman would assent to the arrangement now. He had felt it in the tremble under his touch, the need to confess, to be cleansed. It had been the same with every prisoner he had ever been given, and they had all caved to Gustavo in the end.

 

Always.

 


	3. The Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, for your wonderful feedback.
> 
> Also, thanks so much to nemesia for her Spanish beta checking! Very much appreciated.
> 
> Just a note - there will be many more varying POVs in the story aside from Jesse and Gus, but the other characters won't be as frequent.

 

 

 

_You can never trust a drug addict._

Shapes moved on the screen, discernible only as blobs of color while indistinct voices melded into one another and canned laughter rang in hollow bursts throughout his living room. Jesse sat smoking on his futon, his leg jogging up and down in fits as he stared at the ceiling in perplexed misery. A restless energy ate through him, unable to commit to any one act but caught up in his limbs like fish scooped into a net. He glanced at the time on his television again, hoping that it had significantly jumped from the previous check-in. They would be here soon enough. He just needed to chill before they got here, or risk looking like a desperate junkie.

 

                Desperation was all he felt, however, and his need for a taste of something had been expanding every hour since he’d left Fring’s. It was a demon that raged through him, all teeth and claws, demanding to be sated; a howl that pierced and shredded and tore, from a creature that wanted only to look away. He thought he’d been doing better, but all it took was one crisis and he was back to square one, every time. Jesse was tired of being on the desultory swing of his addiction yet his life couldn’t ever stay normal for any length of time, chronically beset by one upheaval after another. Being in the drug trade was the worst job a drug addict could ever have.

 

                Jesse would not go back to group, though, not ever, even with the drag of a methamphetamine undertow pulling him down. He didn’t want to hear their bullshit dogma and their excuses anymore, didn’t want to hear that he was a good person who just needed to accept his baggage. He needed more. He’d gone there the last time wanting their damnation, ready to be judged, but they’d been utterly useless and he’d left that room sunk ever deeper into his wretchedness with nothing to numb him, no void to enter, to make him disappear. Just endless garbage being shoveled inside him, in his mouth and eyes, down his throat, feeling buried from the inside out as he moved through his days, Mr. White bitching about Gus in his ears, Mike bitching about Mr. White, and none of them understanding a damn thing.

 

                But then he’d gone to see Andrea and Brock, Gus had taken him down to Mexico, and in a few short days, Jesse was back to believing he could make it, could have something approaching routine and comfort. Until last night.

 

                There was a knock at the door and Jesse sat upright with a start, quickly stubbing out his cigarette in the oversized ashtray before making his way over. He closed his eyes in thanks, happy to have the rest of the evening to spend with them, wishing they were here all the time. But he’d never do that to them.

 

                “Hey! Alright, I’m stoked you’re here.” He held a fist towards Brock. “Give it up, little man. Good to see you. Been waiting for you to come back so I can kick your butt in Sonic All-Stars again.”

 

                “I beat you last time,” Brock reminded him with a grin, bumping Jesse’s fist with his own.

 

                “What? Seriously? It was four out of five, dude. Are you sure? We better ask your Mom.”

 

                Andrea herded them both in the door, a grocery bag in her arm which Jesse grabbed as he leaned in to kiss her. She beamed at him. “Pretty sure it was Brock kicking your ass, Jesse.”

 

                “You said we’re not supposed to say that word,” Brock said.

 

                “You’re right, baby, I slipped. I owe you a quarter, okay?” She stepped over to the futon to drop her purse, Jesse still with his hand on her hip. He wanted to touch her skin, wanted to dive between her legs for hours and not think about meth quotas and slavery deals, or Mr. White’s tongue being cut out. Jesse grabbed hold of her hand and started to tug her towards the kitchen.

 

                “I bet you got a big ol’ jar full of quarters, Brock. You’re making bank with your mother’s potty mouth, smart move. Hey, I got us the sequel to _Open Season_ for tonight, but you can get warmed up on your game, okay? I’m gonna take your Mom in the kitchen so we can get the snacks going.” He turned to Andrea as they passed his giant speaker. “Uh, you guys eat already? I can call for pizza, if you want.”

 

                “It’s okay, Jesse, I fed him dinner earlier. I just bought some chips and the salsa you like.”

 

                He set the bag on his counter, immediately clutched her hips and moved her back against the tiled lip, pressing himself to her. His hands curved her ass as he kissed her, pulling her closer until the button fly over his hard-on was digging into her. Jesse couldn’t stop touching, his hands moving to her breasts, to her hair, sliding down the zipper of her pants and scooping underneath, his mouth drawing her breaths into him like little tufts of salvation.

 

                “Mm, baby, wait. Stop a minute, Jesse,” she murmured in between kisses. He pushed himself off of her, sucking in air like he was preparing for a plunge into a cold river.

 

                “Yeah, sorry. I’m just … glad you’re here.” The ache inside him purred in his throat.

 

                “You okay?” Her features tightened into concern.

 

                He took another deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah, sure. Right as rain.”

 

                “I’m just … you know, Brock is waiting, and … the way you were last time – you get started and we’ll be in here for a while, right?” She smiled at him again, came close enough that their noses touched, her hand curling around the back of his neck. “Don’t worry. We can spend some time together after he falls asleep. You know he’ll be passed out by the end of the movie.”

 

                “Will you guys stay over?” he asked, fingers roaming over her ribs, pressing between them. “I got that other mattress in my spare room. I can make it up for him. I’ll get you up early enough to get him home with plenty of time to get ready for school.”

 

                She wrinkled her nose. “Um, I don’t know about that.”

 

                “ _Please,_ ” he begged, halting his distress before it took him over. “I mean, I’d … _really,”_ he kissed her. “Really.” Another, longer kiss. “ _Really_ love it if you would stay. I – you know I love having you both here.”

 

                Andrea still looked doubtful, but she bit her bottom lip and shrugged a shoulder. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

 

                He cupped between her thighs again, his finger stroking along the stitching as he leaned in close to whisper into her ear. “I will do _whatever_ you want. _Anything_ you want me to do to you. It’s all on the table, babe. Deal?”

 

                He heard her intake of breath, a faint but high-pitched moan at the end of it. Andrea grabbed at his wrist, pulled his hand away as she separated them with a slight push to his chest. Jesse worried for a moment that he’d lost her, that she’d bundle up Brock and head right back out the door, leaving him here to crawl the walls, scream into blaring speakers until he was raw, but then she looked up into his face and he saw her eyes darken, her mouth slightly opened.

 

                “Okay, baby,” she whispered back. “You got a deal.” She turned and opened the cupboard door, reaching for a bowl big enough for the chips. Jesse leaned his head into her back and breathed in, closing his eyes again as his head filled with the chorus of a thousand thank yous.

 

******

                “So, I don’t get why the squirrel has a Scottish accent. Do they even have squirrels in Scotland? Like, how the hell did it get all the way to Idaho, or wherever they’re supposed to be?”

 

                “He migrates a lot,” Brock explained. “He’s old, he’s been everywhere.”

 

                “Well, how’d he get across the ocean, dude?” Jesse kept a serious face as Brock eyed him curiously, his expression seeming to indicate he knew he was being teased.

 

                “Maybe he crawled into a helicopter,” he offered.

 

                “Wow, helicopter squirrel, okay. I’ll buy that. But Mr. Weenie is kind of a jerk, so I’m wondering why they’re all trying so hard to help him. He’s got a better set-up, all domesticated, than the rest of those guys. I mean, they take him to pet camp and everything. Sweet deal, yo.”

 

                Brock gave him a bashful smile. “He wants to be free. Sometimes people can give you lots of things, but if they don’t let you free, it’s like you’re a prisoner.”

 

                “Oh, I see. That’s real deep, Brock.” Andrea smacked him on the thigh. “Ow! Hey, I was being serious,” he grinned.

 

                “How about we watch the movie,” she added. “Let’s get to the ending before we start philosophizing about the characters.” She turned her head to face him, away from Brock’s view, and mouthed, “ _let him get sleepy,”_ before shifting lower on the couch, crossing her legs at the ankle as she propped them on his glass table.

 

                Jesse let his eyes linger on them, followed them all the way up, from her knees to her thighs, until he was concentrating on the patch of space at their peak, where they split and scalloped the vee of her jeans. He glanced over to Brock on the other side of her, engrossed in his cartoon, then very slowly slid his free hand over her stomach, traveled her pelvis, and down into the break to fit snugly between her legs. Andrea lifted the right one up into a mountain, blocked Brock from what was happening. She continued to watch the screen, but tilted her head into his shoulder where his arm reached across the top of her back.

 

                Jesse quickly shifted too, his gaze still on Brock as fingers nimbly undid her top button and quietly slid the zipper down partway. He slid his hand under the denim, then under lace and silk, until he felt the encroaching heat of her, his finger rounding the curve and dipping inside eagerly. He couldn’t handle subtlety tonight, and he willed Brock to fall asleep soon, estimating that he had at least another forty minutes before he could get Andrea into his bed. He needed her bewitching him, needed her body in a shiny, crystal line that he could snort up and light into his brain.

 

                There was a sudden invasion into his thoughts: a close-up of Gus’s face, that determined pressure on his mouth, the outline of the man’s girth pressed against his leg, and Jesse froze. He felt the room tilt.

 

                Andrea bumped his arm with an elbow and he saw the question on her face. Jesse pushed his finger deeper, knuckles pressed against flesh, and Andrea lifted her bottom, tried to appear as if she were merely getting comfortable. But Jesse didn’t possess the elegance or the time for surreptitious foreplay on the futon next to her kid. He needed to fuck something now.

 

                “Hey, uh … how about I fix up that bed I bought last week, Brock, and you can take a nap after the show’s over? How’s that sound?”

 

                “We can stay over?” Brock asked his mother excitedly, but Andrea was removing Jesse’s hands from her pants, pulling both knees up as her socked feet curled the edge of the couch.

 

                “We’ll see. It depends on what time the movie’s finished. You promise you didn’t have any other homework, Brock?”

 

                “Yes. I finished all of it. Please, can we stay?”

 

                “Yeah,” Jesse added enthusiastically. “You should totally stay. I can make you guys breakfast when you get up. It’ll be chill.”

 

                Andrea gave him a knowing look. “Breakfast, huh? You cook now? Aren’t you the man of hidden talents,” she teased.

 

                He gripped her hand, moved it closer to his crotch while still obstructing it from Brock’s sightline. His voice was deep and raspy.

 

                “I got all kinds of talents you ain’t ever dreamed of.”

 

 

*******

 

                “ _Ay Dios. Así, más fuerte_ _.”_

 

                Andrea’s breathy instructions continued as he pounded into her, his fingers likely leaving bruises on her hips. He dutifully watched the line that pulled taut from his bedpost to disappear under her hair, worried every second that she might choke if he pulled her back too hard with his thrusts. Her hands were tied at her back and Jesse held on to her tightly so she wouldn’t tip over, slid his hands from her waist upwards to cup both of her breasts as he pressed against her, tangling his face in her hair and breathing in the smell of sweat at her neck.

 

                “ _Oooh,_ fuck, baby, don’t stop. I’m almost there,” she goaded, attempting to keep her cries muted. “Do it. Please.”

 

                Jesse closed his eyes and breathed sharply before he opened his mouth, sunk teeth deep into her shoulder, wisps of hair sticking to his tongue. He moved his hand back to her cunt, parted flesh and squeezed the hard carpel of skin, his fingers like pincers. Andrea bucked under him, and in another moment he felt her body seize up then fall into tremors; small, musical gasps coming from her like a peacock’s call.

 

                As soon as she was done, he flipped her on her back, already reaching over her towards the frame to swiftly loosen the knot of his silk tie. Andrea panted as he fumbled at her throat, needing to get the damn thing off of her, but as soon as she was untethered he eased himself back inside of her, quick to resume his rhythm. She curled her legs above his ass and he pumped harder, machine-like, his head filled with white noise and his spine sending him shockwaves.

 

                Jesse grunted twice, his muscles stiffening as the bliss hit him, spread through him like a July fourth sky. It wasn’t smack and it wasn’t blue, but it was the best he could get, and Jesse was grateful as he dropped on top of her, instantly molding himself to her with a whoosh of breath.

 

                “Oh, God. Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he droned into the hollow of her throat, absorbing her thudding heart beat into his chest, the sound of their dual palpitations a dissonant echo. He reached under her back, lazily undid the knot at her wrists.

 

                After a minute, she shifted underneath him, let his body slide off as she rolled on her side, rested her head in an upturned palm. “What’s gotten into you, babe? Is everything okay?”

 

                “What? Why? What do you mean?”

 

                She shrugged, her expression suspect. “I mean, you said before that wasn’t your scene, and I told you I was totally cool with that. We don’t have to do stuff you’re not comfortable with. So, now you’re giving me whatever I want? Just so I’ll stay over? What’s going on?”

 

                Jesse felt a curl of dread in his belly. He desperately wanted to be honest with just one person in his life, but he didn’t want to embroil her in his shit, either. “Um … _nothing._ I – I just thought it would be, you know, _fair_ , if we did things the way you like sometimes. I can – I can work with it. You know,” he stroked her stomach. “Whatever you want, babe.”

 

                “Well, I won’t deny it was hot, but … are you okay? You’ve been really – I don’t know, kind of hyper tonight. You said you quit using, Jesse. Is that really true?”

 

                He propped himself on an elbow to face her, grabbing on to a lock of her hair. “Hey, I've been totally straight with you, okay? I know I fucked up, but I’ve been clean almost two weeks. Which, I know, it’s lame, that ain’t jack shit – but I’m trying _really_ hard, alright? I –” He paused to lick his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. “I’m just having a – a rough go of it tonight.”

 

                Her features resonated with alarm. “Babe, do you need me to take you to a meeting? I can get Brock up and we can go right now, it’s not that late. I’ll leave him with my grandmother.”

 

                “Nah, it’s fine. I mean, I can’t go back there, anyway. I said – some stupid, loudmouthed shit last time, they’re not gonna want to see me around. You know, I was just angry, couldn’t keep it together. But this – this helps. Seriously. Just having you and Brock here with me, it means so much.”

 

                She appeared dubious, but took his hand in her own, knitting their fingers. “Jesse, I know what it’s like. I feel it, too. A lot more than I wish. But sex can’t always feed it, you know? Just tell me when you’re craving a hit. We’ll figure something out. You know you can talk to me, Jesse. You don’t gotta play me.”

 

                He felt a momentary pass of shame heat his face, knowing that he’d used her to get himself out of his head. “I’m sorry. I just … I really needed you. I promise I won’t play games anymore, though, okay? Just … say you’ll keep coming back.”

 

                Andrea leaned over to kiss him, her lips pressing faintly to his, and the fear that had been captured inside him drew smaller. “I’m happy you came to see us, Jesse,” she told him softly. “I missed you. I worried about you all the time when I couldn’t see you. I want you in our lives. But I can’t use again. And neither can you. We have to help each other, baby.” She kissed him again and Jesse clung to her, smoothing his hands up her back and grabbing fistfuls of her wild mass of curls. Her pleasure was a sigh into his mouth and Jesse swallowed it greedily, already suspiring her body again. The kiss grew more fervent and he pushed her down, moved his kisses down her throat, lingering on the pulse there, dragged his tongue over her nipple until she arched her back. He visualized the crystalline blue as he smashed it up in its tray, recalled the sounds of it crunching under lighters, the dust glinting on glass. He kissed her hip bone, the line above her thigh, and then spread her legs wider, finally landing in the cove of his respite. A snort, a prick, an inhale – Jesse pierced her with his tongue, imagining diamond cuts across brain matter and laser beams setting his senses on fire.

 

                He heard her groan, felt her hands slip under her thighs to spread herself wider. And Jesse held on, locked his arms at her pelvis and disappeared.

 

 

***

 

 

                A low flying plane screamed over the roofs as Jesse waited on the porch, making him cringe instinctively. He took another long drag off of his cigarette, not ready to give it up, while he gazed over the neighboring yards. It was still light out, the sky just turning a dusky pink, the eddying swirls of neon blue fading into clouds. The lampposts along the walkway had just come on. He wore the shirt with the epaulets again, probably the nicest one he had not counting the old dress shirts tucked into the back of his closet. Jesse wasn’t sure where the concern for his attire even came from, there was no etiquette regarding dressing up for a blackmailing.

 

                Gus opened the door, that shit-eating grin plastered to his face.

 

                “Jesse. I am pleased to see you here.”

 

                Jesse dropped the cigarette to the ground, crushed it under his foot, and watched with satisfaction as Gus’s grin faltered, staring at Jesse’s Converse with a cold disapproval.

 

                “Whatever, man. Let’s just get this over with,” he said flatly as he stepped over the threshold, feeling swallowed up by the cave of doom as the door closed behind him.

 

 

 

 


	4. The Preliminary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thanks to nemesia for her assistance with the Spanish, and to celeryy for her beta.

 

 

_If I can’t kill you, you’ll sure as shit wish you were dead_

                Gustavo waited until Pinkman entered before stepping to the porch to pick up the mangled butt on the concrete. He held it out from his body as though it were the carcass of a cockroach, carrying it towards the kitchen as he ushered Pinkman to the living room.

 

                “Have a seat. I will be right there. Do you need anything?”

 

                “A new life would be nice,” Pinkman drawled.

 

                He cast his eyes over Pinkman with a heavy breath. This one would not be easy. But there was something inherently thrilling in the knowledge, a challenge that Gus could immerse himself in, could actually enjoy. His days had been too infested with cartel threats and vainglorious chemists in the last several months. He needed something else to consume his mind, and to find pleasure in the escape. Pinkman was churlish, an addict with the taint of the recalcitrant and the willful, but his desire to please shone through behind the wall of thorns, a need that sparked in his eyes whenever he was tasked to perform. _Am I good enough?_ the spark wondered, beseeching and clear. Gus just needed to peel away the exterior, hook the junkie on a new, less chemical high.

 

                He came back into the room carrying a glass of ice water. Set it before Pinkman on the table, noticing that he’d chosen the lone stuffed chair over the sofa. Gus sat down across from him, clasped his hands together, elbows on knees, and leaned toward Pinkman in wait.

 

                “Well?” he asked in his deep baritone.

 

                Pinkman twitched in his chair, reached down for the glass and took several long gulps before managing to compose himself.

 

                “You don’t got any crystal in the kitchen, do you? I could totally do a line right now,” he said wearily.

 

                “I beg your pardon? Do not make jokes about your drug use. You are forbidden to touch these drugs now that you are in my employ. And in my … house. I will not tolerate this happening again, Jesse.”

 

                “I didn’t mean nothing by it, lighten up. Besides,” Pinkman sneered. “What do you care?”

 

                “I care very much. I have seen the ravages of addiction on ones that were close to me and it is a terrible thing to behold. You are better than this. I will not allow you to defeat your potential.”

 

                Pinkman looked momentarily stunned, glanced to the door and then picked up his glass for another deep swallow. He set it down on the table and wiped his hands over his knees, dropped his gaze to the floor between his legs.

 

                “You don’t want to lose your cook, is what you’re worried about. Must be killing you having your entire business relying on a junkie’s mental state, huh?” He looked up to meet eyes with Gus. “Who was it?”

 

                “Who was who?”

 

                “The one you lost to drugs. Was it that guy? The one you said Uncle Bell Ringer killed?”

 

                “No.” Gus conjured Mateo’s face, saw the wildness that had lit his brother’s eyes the last time he would see him alive, lines of sweat beaded across his forehead and lip as he ranted in his paranoia. He had followed the traitors in their depraved assassination attempt and had been blown to pieces for it. Gus knew in his bones that Mateo had been high when it happened – the death was pointless and stupid. His brother had been weak, had allowed his hatred of their father to reduce him to chunks of charred meat strewn across the Paseo Ahumada. But even in his grief and anger, Gus had tracked down the cowards that had beguiled his brother, those _hijos de puta_ crying for mercy when he’d brought them to the Discothèque in blindfolds, trussed up like pigs. He had kept them alive for four days, making sure their every moment was agony. And then he had fled.

 

                “Well, so who, then? Like, someone in your family?”

 

                Gus sniffed, brushed at his sweater distractedly. “It is of no consequence now. That was in the past. But I maintain this policy with all who work for me. You will remain clean, Jesse. There are no more chances.”

 

                Pinkman ducked his head, picked at his nails. “Yeah, well, sounds like you’re in the wrong business if it’s so important to you.”

 

                “The animals in the streets will always look for the easy ways. I supply them with their method of destruction and make money from it, but if it was not me, it would be another. This weakness will never go away. It is not our product that is the problem, it is the sickness in these people who cannot lift their heads up and do what is necessary. _Rastreros_. Cowards.”

 

                There was a mix of emotions in the boy’s face as he studied Gus – fear, yes, but with that streak of defiance there in the sharpened black pupils surrounded by brilliant blue, with an acute curiosity that ran over them both.

 

                “O-kay. Whatever. But if you want promises from me, then you gotta give me your word that you’re not going to touch Mr. White, or his family. And that means no tricks looking for bogus loopholes, either, like, ‘oh, yeah, I didn’t really _touch him,_ just had my guys plow a truck into his car’, that kind of shit. I need a guarantee. You leave Mr. White _alone._ You leave his family alone. No one else gets hurt.”

 

                Gus drew in a long breath as he straightened his back, folded hands on his lap. “The DEA agent is still a problem. Walter has failed to dissuade him from his investigation. I cannot give you my word that I will not act against him. If Schrader continues to poke his nose into my business, then he leaves me no choice.”

 

                “So then find a way to dissuade him!” he cried. “You take out Mr. White’s brother-in-law, he’s gonna go ballistic. And then you got an even bigger problem. I mean, who knows what he’ll do? What if he goes to the cops? Gets into Witness Protection while they come after the whole operation?”

 

                “Walter serves his own interest. I’m sure he will find a way to manage with the proper motivation. He will always take care of himself, first. He told me once that he was aware … _convinced_ that I had orchestrated the attempt on Agent Schrader’s life with the Salamanca brothers to gain control of the Southwest market, manipulating the US into a war with the cartel and thereby ensuring the elimination of many of my competitors. In the same breath, he explained that he _approved_ of this strategy, that he would have done the same. Does this sound to you like a man that would turn himself in to bring down the murderers of his brother-in-law?”

 

                “Did you?” Pinkman asked pointedly.

 

                Gus frowned in confusion, no longer engaged in the discussion of Schrader’s life. “Did I what?”

 

                “Did you do all that? Set up the hit? Look, I’m hardly in the dude’s fan club, alright? He’s a complete dick; we’re all on board, here. But that’s messed up. He’s DEA, yo. That ain’t like killing just a regular cop. You really want the Feds sniffing up your ass? And it’s going to look pretty suspicious if the dude –”

 

                It was enough. “Jesse, listen to me. _I_ will deal with this. I did not ask you here to discuss Agent Schrader. We are talking about Walter. And about you. I can give you my word that Walter will not be harmed if you are ready to consent to my demands. But I need to hear your answer.”

 

                Immediately, Pinkman started to fidget, biting a nail as he gazed off at the sliding door leading to the deck. The night had arrived, their reflections across black glass like apparitions in conversation hovering in the air outside. The soft light in the living room left a glow around Pinkman’s head, the velvety fuzz of his pate all that remained of his hair. He took a soldiering breath and faced Gus head-on.

 

                “Alright. I’ll do it. I’ll give you what you want. But you break your word, you better kill me quick, ‘cause otherwise I will be coming for you, man. You’ll be looking over your shoulder for a long-ass time.”

 

                Gus smiled widely, delighted by Pinkman’s threat. He had not been mystified by the boy’s devotion to Walter, nor the inverse, even through Mike’s grumblings on the two, for he had seen his own relationship with Max mirrored there on a familial level. The younger man looking to his mentor as if he’d held all the answers in his hands, God-like and omnipotent – he could understand why Walter was perhaps enamored of that quality in his partner, especially with his ego. Yet unlike Max, who had trusted deeply in Gus, always eager to contribute his gifts but unequipped to deal with savage men, Pinkman was an exposed nerve. He bristled and thrashed, used his fear wisely. Gus felt a thrill run up his spine as he imagined Pinkman moving underneath him, as volatile as the compounds he mixed every day.

 

                “I am … very happy to hear this, Jesse. Very pleased. You have made the right decision.”

 

                Pinkman gaped back blandly, his tone bored. “Yeah. The best ever. I can hardly wait.”

 

                Gus stood up quickly, clapped his hands together once as he anticipated the move upstairs. “Well then, we should begin.”

 

                At once, Pinkman’s face flooded with panic. “What? What are you talking about? You said – you said once a week. You didn’t say nothin’ about starting tonight. You can’t just spring that on me. I – I got to be somewhere soon.”

 

                “Do not be worried, Jesse,” he assuaged. “I am not going to keep you long. The twenty fours will begin in another two days. I will expect you here at seven sharp on that evening. This is merely the … formalities. An introduction, as it were.”

 

                “Introduction?” His incredulity sang in the shrill rise of his voice. “Uh, _yeah_ , I think we’ve already gotten past that point, considering you had your tongue down my throat yesterday.”

 

                Gus reached for his patience – took another long, meditative breath. He took Pinkman by the wrist, made him stand up and then clutched those shoulders tightly.

 

                “Listen to me, carefully. You will need to trust me, Jesse. This is how it will be. When you are here, my voice is God. You _will_ … do what I say. Without question, without hesitation. If you protest, punishment will be swift. But never severe. I will never give you more than you can handle. I have faith in you, Jesse. But you need to learn to have faith in yourself.”

 

                Pinkman tried to squirm out of his hold but Gus held him tighter. “What the hell are you talking about, man? You said this wasn’t about punishing me!” He pressed against Gus’s chest to push him away but Gustavo gripped him by the neck with both hands, drawing him closer. He spoke with a drawn out menace.

 

                “I said – listen.” He separated them, took a step away as he held out a hand to the stairs in invitation then smiled soothingly. “Now please. I would like you to go upstairs with me. This will not be long. Think of it as … an inspection.”

 

                Pinkman said nothing further but his distrust flared in his features as shoulders reared back in defense. After a few moments, he finally turned and started towards the staircase, Gus behind him. He clomped his feet on the way up, his rubber soles leaving little impact on the carpeted steps, and stared straight ahead until they reached the landing, where he timidly glanced behind him, eyes huge as he waited for a destination. Gus strode ahead of him, moving quickly to his bedroom door. He opened it wide, scanning the room’s presentation before looking to Pinkman.

 

                “You must wait here, at the entrance. Remove your clothes and shoes and leave them in the hallway. I will call you in when I am ready.”

 

                Pinkman’s face darkened, his eyes turning into slits. “What did you just say?” he asked in a low, dangerous rasp.

 

                Gus’s smile dropped instantly. “I do not repeat myself. You would do well to learn this now.” He stepped into the room, marched slowly to his walk-in closet, pulling back the levered doors with a great sense of drama. Instantly, he flashed back to the ballroom floor of Londres, number thirty eight, the walls heavily festooned with the tools they required, the sound of screams always present. He did not own a fraction of that inventory, but what he’d collected over the years was impressive enough. Striding to the back of the closet, his fingers curled around the item he sought, a replacement to an old friend – simple yet effective.

 

                He sat down on his bed facing the doorway. Pinkman had removed his shirt, but froze as soon as he saw Gus, a hand at his waistband.

 

                “Please. Continue,” Gus urged.

 

                Pinkman glumly turned away, toed off the back of his sneaker and flung it several feet. He lifted a leg, pulled off the other one and threw it down the stairs with a grunt, then fell forward to grip above his knees. “Just for the record,” he announced sullenly, “you suck for doing this. I mean, seriously, you’re a real asshole.” He held the pose for a beat before releasing a gust of breath, straightening as he unbuttoned his pants and pushing them midway down his legs, his briefs bunched into the seat. With his feet, he dragged the rest of the jeans down, pressing them to the floor and then swiping them away with a kick. He didn’t attempt to cover his nakedness, but stood stiffly with chin jutted upward and shoulders stiff.

 

                “So, what? Am I allowed to enter now?”

 

                As Gus rose from the bed he gripped the handle of the baton, let it hang at his side. Pinkman’s gaze went immediately to the stick, his eyes widening, but Gus pointed the shaft to a spot on the floor before him. “I want you to stand here. Let me see you.”

 

                It took a second before the boy began to move, his trepidation in halting steps while watching the baton tap at Gus’s thigh with earnest concentration. Pinkman stopped at the designated patch on the carpet and up close Gus had a sweep of satisfaction to see the trembling in his arms. Gus circled behind him, his movement practiced and methodical. Impulsively, he bent his head to Pinkman’s shoulder, breathed in deeply the sweet tang of fear and sweat on his skin. Pinkman twitched but stayed rooted.

 

                “Did you just sniff me?”

 

                Gus answered by pressing the end of the baton to Pinkman’s neck, rapped it on the skull at the dawn of his back, making him jerk at the touch.

 

                “I want you to kneel. Legs spread. Your hands behind your head.”

 

                Pinkman continued to move at a sluggish pace, dropping to his knees but taking a long moment before he raised his arms and cradled the back of his neck. Gus had another vision of the past assault him – the bodies in the same pose, rows of them, the main floor reserved for the men. It was the first time Contreras had invited Gus to Tejas Verde and the two weeks there had been an educational one. He’d watched the guards beat the men with their sticks, shout threats and insults, some holding snarling, slavering dogs, their chains taut as they lunged forward, their senses ablaze. But Gus had followed different methods, ones that had garnered him a reputation. He tucked the truncheon into his armpit and repositioned Pinkman’s hands to his head, forcing the boy to lift his elbows higher. Pinkman sucked in a sharp breath, but then Gus took the baton and slid it between Pinkman’s legs, just below his cock, smacking it to either side of his thighs.

 

                “Not like this. Wider. Chest out.”

 

                “ _Jesus,”_ Pinkman hissed under his breath while stretching his knees outward as directed. Gus marched back around to face him, lifting the baton to rest under Pinkman’s chin.

 

                “Up,” he coached as the young man glared at him. Again, he did as he was told, his teeth gnashing as his jaw worked. “Always look at me.”

 

                “You are fucking unbelievable,” Pinkman muttered.

 

                “Jesse, this will go much quicker if you abstain from commenting on my every command. This is merely to gain an understanding. Of how things will work once you enter this house. From now on, I will expect you to present yourself to me in this manner at the beginning of every visit.” He smacked the baton to Pinkman’s stomach and the boy doubled over in surprise, but Gus kept it there, traced it along the lines of his torso until it reached the lizard at his chest. The sheer variety of Pinkman’s tattoos amused him, the symbols a motley mix of origins – Mexican, Celtic, and Chinese – he doubted that Pinkman even understood their significance. But they represented a desire to belong to something greater, a grab bag of traditional ethnic motifs that Pinkman had gravitated to in order to follow a path, anything that deviated from what had been expected of him.

 

                “What does your father do, Jesse?” he asked nonchalantly, imagining the house that Pinkman grew up in. His family was likely middle class, his speech appropriated from the streets. Gus knew the type.

 

                It was quiet for a second. “He works in finance,” he finally answered, looking worried. “Why?”

 

                Instead of answering, Gus slid the baton to a nipple, circled it slowly. He wondered that for all of Pinkman’s body art, there were no piercings. He would need to remedy that soon. He had a flash of Max’s body, the abundance of silver that had adorned the length of him at Gus’s insistence. Needles were a favorite of his.

 

                “You were not poor,” Gus stated. “You grew up in a good home, in a white neighborhood. Maybe Huning Castle? Four Hills? Nicer probably than Walter’s house.”

 

                “So? What’s your point?”

 

                “There is no point. I am merely making an observation. You did not become a drug dealer out of desperation. You had other opportunities available to you. Not everyone in this business was as fortunate.”

 

                “Says the guy whose father was a general. What’s your excuse, huh? You got a legitimate business, yo. Why do you do it?”

 

                Gus ignored the bratty retort, propped the stick back under Pinkman’s chin. “Why did you start working with Walter? What was your motivation?”

 

                “Uh, he motivated me to start cooking with him by blackmailing me. Sound familiar?”

 

                This surprised Gus – Walter had never given any indication that Pinkman had been coerced. “How did he do this? What does he have over you?”

 

                Pinkman rolled his eyes, stretched his neck. “Nothing. I mean, he saw me making tracks in the middle of a bust, that’s all. I was at the neighbor’s house when it happened, and Mr. White was with his brother-in-law on a ride-along, I guess. He just showed up at my house and told me I had to work with him or he’d turn me in. The prick.”

 

                “How did he know where to find you, then?”

 

                A hiss of irritation sounded through his teeth. “What do you mean? I was in his class. He recognized me. Looked at my old school records for my address.”

 

                “You used to be a student of his?” Gus’s shock could have knocked him over. Suddenly, many things started to make sense. He could hear Walter’s rumbling pronouncement again – _Because he does what I say. Because I can trust him._ No wonder he had been so confident, he had already established a position of power over his partner.

 

                “Look, do I really have to be naked while you ask me a ton of bullshit questions? Couldn’t we have done this downstairs? What’s your fucking deal, man?”

 

                He had circled behind Pinkman again and at the question, tapped the baton to the knob on the top of his spine, startling him once more. Gus stood closer, dragged the baton down the groove along Pinkman’s back and let it rest atop the swell of his ass. “My _deal_ is your deal, Jesse, in that you have sworn to do as I say. I want to see the full extent of what I have acquired in this bargain.” He resumed the baton’s descent, pressing it to the crease of the boy’s bottom, as if the wooden shaft might split it open. Pinkman went rigid, his breathing heavy. “There is much to explore in this … arrangement.”

 

                In a flash, Gus dipped the baton between Pinkman’s legs, jabbed it to the soft, spongey underside of his scrotum. Pinkman choked, tried to fall forward, but Gus quickly dropped behind him, pressed an arm across his chest to keep him in place.

 

                “Do … not … move.” Pinkman stilled, his breaths now coming furiously. Gus laid the nightstick across Pinkman’s pelvis, pressing the bar to his hipbones. He gripped the other end, arms on either side of Pinkman, and held it firmly, the boy trapped underneath. Leaning into the hollow of Pinkman’s neck, along the scoop of his shoulder, he inhaled again, the tang almost cloying as Pinkman’s fear ratcheted. “I have one more request of you before I let you go,” he said quietly into the boy’s ear.

 

                “What?” Pinkman bit out.

 

                Gus took hold of Pinkman’s wrist, removed it from the back of his head to coax the arm down until it hung at his groin. He slid his hand over the top of Pinkman’s, curved them both over the limp cock.

 

                “I want to watch you,” he said simply, his meaning instantly registering with the boy.

 

                “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Pinkman declared in disgust.

 

                “ _Do it_ ,” Gus hissed.

 

                His agitation set in his jaw, Pinkman stared straight ahead while he spoke with a deep and throaty indignation. “You want to see me … jerk off? Seriously?”

 

                “I will see you do more, Jesse. But for now – you will do this for me.” The baton left Pinkman’s abdomen for a moment, rapped at his breastbone. “Or would you prefer I find another way to produce the same result?”

 

                Pinkman sucked in air through his teeth again, his mouth downturned in distaste, eyes lit up and nostrils flared. Gus was compelled to lean in and lick the boy’s jawline, resisting the urge to embed teeth into the soft tissue like fatty meat melting off bone. Pinkman blinked rapidly and Gus watched his throat bob with a thick swallow. The hand started to move – Gus felt him tug at his length at first - then in slow, experimental strokes, and he stroked along with the boy, fingers slotted side-by-side.

 

                “It’ll work better if I do this alone,” he croaked and Gus bent near his face again, kissed the corner of his mouth, his tongue following the seam. He switched hands so that he was holding the baton’s handle while the other wrapped around the front of the boy’s neck. Pinkman’s breaths grew ragged, but his strokes continued at a measured pace.

 

                “Faster,” Gus encouraged, a deep and sibilant command.

 

                “Not really … prepared.”

 

                Gus dropped the baton, grabbed hold of Pinkman’s wrist to bring it upward, crushing the bone in his grip until Pinkman cried out and opened his hand. Gus brought it to his face, licked a swath of spit on his palm before stuffing it back into Pinkman’s crotch, making the boy take himself in hand.

 

                “Now you are ready. This shouldn’t have to take all day. I thought you had someplace to be.”

 

                “Fucking _asshole,_ ” he muttered, but increased the momentum of his stroking as Gus tightened his grip at Pinkman’s throat. The pulse there quickened, fluttering under the skin like a swallow’s heartbeat, and Gus felt himself harden.

 

                By the time that Pinkman’s arousal was fully formed, Gus was straddling the boy’s thigh, practically resting his weight there. Pinkman let out a harsh bark as his strokes doubled in speed, his release close, and Gus wrenched the boy’s head sideways to face him, smashed his mouth to an open cry, the movement between them furious as Pinkman’s arm shook with a fevered pace. Gus tilted him back as he scooped up testicles into his fist, his tongue filling the wet cavity under his mouth the way he ached to fill the boy’s body, and Pinkman shouted into him as he came, sound waves trailing up Gustavo’s cheeks like tremors from an earthquake.

 

                The kiss continued as Pinkman went still, slackjawed and loose, and finally Gus let him go, pushed him back to an upright position. He got up and strode to the en suite a few feet away, returned with a warm, wet washcloth. Gus knelt by the boy again and wiped across his belly and chest, noting the way Pinkman’s expression had gone blank, his eyes glassy but unseeing.

 

                “You may get dressed now,” Gus said when he was done cleaning him. Pinkman lurched up to his feet, teetered for a moment before taking jerky steps towards the door. He dressed with stilted motions, silent the entire time. Once he finished, he stood in wait, staring at the floor.

 

                “That is all. We are done here, Jesse. I will see you again on Friday. I do not tolerate tardiness.”

 

                Wordlessly, Pinkman turned on his heel and headed downstairs at a brisk jog, picking up his sneakers along the way. Gus followed him to the foyer, caught him by the arm before he could reach for the doorknob.

 

                “Remember, Jesse. I will stay true to my end of the deal. No harm will come to Walter.”

 

                Pinkman shook him off as he opened the door, slammed it shut behind him as he stormed out in bare feet, windows rattling from the force and the boom resounding through the walls.

 

                Gus breathed deeply, held in a sigh. He had another vision of Maximino as a teen, that open, earnest face so determined to please, the body so eager and hungry. But he had had many years to mold his young lover, whereas Pinkman’s training had only just begun. He had time, however, and he sensed in Walter’s impetuous partner a jewel buried under hardened rock, one that simply needed refining, to be worn down till it shone. Gus excelled at seeing the potential in people, an ability he’d always possessed. He’d made a mistake with Walter, but there had been something to salvage from that wreck, and Gus would see it through. Pinkman might fight it at first, but he would come around.

 

                He turned towards the kitchen, his thoughts revolving around disposal of DEA agents and dinner options for Friday night’s guest.

 

 

 


	5. The Argument

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those of you who left kudos, as well, or bookmarked. Loving the feedback.

 

 

 

_A man provides. And he does it even when he’s not appreciated, or respected, or even loved. He simply bears up and he does it. Because he’s a man._

 

                There were two kinds of people in the world the way Andrea Cantillo saw it. Good people and bad people. It was a simple, some might even say reductive way of looking at things, but Andrea preferred to keep it a black and white matter. It took up a lot less time and energy to have such a straightforward approach. She had accepted that she was in the latter category a long time ago, yet it was her resolve to stay clean that helped keep her focus on the path to becoming a good person again, her son a constant reminder of where she wanted to be.

 

                Every day her past grew more and more dream-like, a murky pool she would peer in to catch glimpses of herself doing shameful things, scenes played out under brackish waters with the worst of it visible through the streaks. In these moments, Andrea would shut her eyes tightly, would reach down and drag her fingertips across the surface, swirl the muddy layers until the images disappeared. She refused to look back. It had been a hard road for her to get this far, but she was thankful that she had good people in her life who gave her something to aspire to.

 

                There was her baby, of course. Brock was a sweet child and it made her heart ache to think of him as a grown man, decent and kind, living away from the barrio he was born into and setting an example to the lazy shit heels she had been around all her life. Men who were raised to become predators, sucking up children and women like it was their right, turning them all into fodder for the machine to keep the cycle going: young girls impregnated to give birth to future drug dealers, who would in turn impregnate young girls. And she had been churned out with the rest of them, repeating her mother’s story, even though she’d always imagined herself smarter than that. The drugs had been a constant temptation, however – ubiquitous and available, always offered with the promise of escape and pleasure. Andrea had needed that for a while.

 

                Her _abuela_ was another one. A proud and often difficult woman; nonetheless, Andrea relied on her grandmother for as much emotional support as anything tangible. She had been there by her granddaughter’s side, gripping her hand fiercely the entire time, when Andrea gave birth to Brock, just as she’d been there when her grandson had fallen ill. It had been a disappointment to her grandmother that she had gotten pregnant to begin with, yet she had never turned her back on Andrea. The fact that her _abuela_ practically raised her was a testament to the woman’s strength – they hadn’t been as lucky with Tomás _._

                And then there was Jesse.

                It hadn’t been a reach to assume that Jesse was involved in something shady – he did offer her drugs right from the start. Plus, no twenty-something in rehab would likely be carrying around thick wads of cash, not even the white boys, unless they were dealing. She had known these things about him intuitively – that he was bad news - before he had almost led her off her path. But there had been something else there, a piercing light that shone from him which broadcast his sweetness and compassion every time he spoke. His tenderness in the way he caressed her, or the gentle smiles he bestowed on both her and Brock. Goodness radiated from Jesse even when he was in his funks. It had been a cruel irony for Andrea: to finally meet a man who wanted to treat her well, was good with her son, yet was, for all intents and purposes, involved in the industry that had decimated her family and perverted her home.

 

                It had been a relief to see him again, fairly clean and stable, when he’d shown up on their new doorstep. Andrea still pinched herself when she drove into her neighborhood, the children laughing and playing on the corner with their innocent games still so foreign to her. It was just the place that she had always wanted for Brock. That it was Jesse providing this perfect little slice of domestic bliss left her with conflicted feelings. Her prideful side tried to kick up a tantrum but it was quelled instantly by her pragmatism, the determination to keep her child safe superseding all other nagging emotions. But what she felt for Jesse further confused her. He had been changed by something – there was the haunted shadow just behind his eyes all the time now – and with his brief return to the meth she understood that he was still deeply at risk. He’d already admitted that he was having a difficult time maintaining his sobriety, but then Andrea had experienced enough of her own restless nights to share in his concerns. It hadn’t been easy giving that habit up. Motherhood was hard, being poor was hard. Having parents abandon you was an easy excuse, but it had still left marks that she couldn’t erase. And all of this had been before her baby brother was killed. Andrea wanted to believe, however, that between her and Jesse they could become each other’s support system, not a lure back to the darkness. She wanted to see him content and happy almost as much as she wanted it for herself. His heart was so big, but that made it all the easier to bruise.

 

                “Mami, I forgot to bring the game,” Brock announced from the back seat of the car. “I left it on the table. Can we go back?”

 

                “Baby, we’re almost to Jesse’s house. Just bring it next time.”

 

                “But I wanted to show him the new Legend of Zelda. He said he would play it with me.”

 

                She turned another corner, the road leading to his suburb just up ahead. “Sweetie, you can show him another time. Maybe Jesse can come visit us this weekend, okay? We’ll have him over for dinner. Would you like to invite him?”

 

                “Okay,” he said, returning his attention to his magazine. Andrea wanted Jesse to see more of the house, to spend time with them there, as if having him in that space would somehow make him a part of their home, part of their family. But she still couldn’t distinguish whether it was out of an honest desire or simply a way to ameliorate her guilt for taking his money.

               

                When they pulled up to the curb in front of Jesse’s house, she saw his car in the drive and got an immediate tingle in her breasts and between her legs. She recalled their last visit for a vivid moment, the way that Jesse has been so achingly earnest to please her, how his hands had shook as he tied her up. A part of her was decidedly curious if she was going to receive another helping of her kinks delivered with such painstaking sincerity.

 

                Jesse greeted them enthusiastically at the door and she could see his nervousness already, like a rabble of butterflies flapping across his shoulders. The smile was too insistent, his responses too eager, and he kept touching her every few seconds as they settled in, either her wrist or the small of her back or his fingers carding through her hair, his energy more desperate than natural. Andrea studied his every tick as he and Brock began an involving discussion on Link’s best weapons, their chatter eventually moving on to other video game characters as Jesse set up the gaming console, a towering stack of games on his table as if he’d planned to hold them in the house for weeks. There were no telltale signs that he was using again; he wasn’t sniffing incessantly, nor particularly jittery. Yet there was something bothering him that he was trying to obscure, that much she could read.

 

                “Hey, should we get some popcorn going? I can toss a bag into the microwave,” he asked offhandedly as he sat down with Brock, controller already in hand.

 

                “Don’t worry, babe, I got it. You two play your game.” She headed for the kitchen as slot machine sound effects started on screen.

 

                “I’m Sonic, you can be Shadow,” she heard her son say.

 

                “Oh, I see how it is, now. You bogart all the dudes with the cool moves for yourself, huh? That’s some smooth strategy there, Brock.”

 

                She heard them laughing as she snapped free the plastic around the popcorn bag, opening the microwave door to lay it flat on its back. Her thoughts drifted back to Jesse’s appeal when she’d last been in his kitchen, the way he’d needed her so urgently. He had made breakfast for them the next morning as he’d promised and it had been just about the sweetest effort she’d ever seen. It wasn’t a good idea to keep Brock over – she didn’t want him getting disappointed again when Jesse invariably shut them out – but her own needs kept getting in the way of her better judgment. She wanted him, pure and simple, and seeing him this evening confirmed that her desires weren’t just about nest building.

 

                Andrea brought out the bowl into the other room, Jesse teasing Brock some more. It always made her breath catch to see her boy grin so widely. He’d always been such a reticent child and yet he seemed to come out of his shell around Jesse.

 

                “Who’s winning,” she asked as she sat down on the papasan that Jesse refused to upgrade.

 

                “I am,” Brock answered, while Jesse reluctantly agreed. There was a hesitant knock on the door and as Jesse darted a look in its direction, his expression turned instantly dark.

 

                “Hey, keep it going, yo,” he instructed as he handed off the controller to her, tickling Brock some more on the way to answer it. Andrea shifted to the futon, pretended to get into the race for the sake of Brock, but her eye wandering to the front door to get a glimpse of Jesse's visitor, an occurrence that she was rarely privy to.

 

                When he opened the door, a man she didn’t know stood there in wait, a piece of bandage tape across his nose. He wore glasses, was dressed all in beige, and appeared balder than even Jesse’s shaved head. He seemed relieved to see Jesse, his expression almost pained, and Andrea turned back to the game.

 

                “Jesse,” she heard him whisper.

 

                “What do you want? I’m busy.” She couldn’t make out the man’s answer, but heard Jesse’s reply.

               

                “I got nothing to say to you, man.” There was a sudden pound on the door and both she and Brock shot glances in their direction. The man had slammed his hand to the wood, barring Jesse from closing it.

               

                “Jesse, please. I’m sorry. Just one minute, that’s all I ask,” the man pleaded, looking desperate. Jesse pushed him backward, off the step, pulling the door behind him.

 

                “Get the hell out of my house,” she heard Jesse threaten and then they were gone. Andrea only half kept her attention on the game, her hearing sharpened to pick up the conversation outside. It was impossible over the clatter of bells and rapid-fire coin plinks to make anything out at first, but then there was a shout.

 

                “Just give me one _minute!”_

                Andrea dropped the controller to the table and stood up. “Keep playing, baby. I just need to see something,” she said as he moved quickly to the window, pulling back the drape a tiny fraction so she could see what they were doing.

 

                Jesse had maneuvered them down to the front of the lawn, near the street, kept pushing the other gentleman away. She could make out a white hatchback behind them. Jesse would look back at the house intermittently and Andrea ducked to the side of the window’s frame, while the man explained something with great vehemence. At one point, he seemed distraught, went to grab Jesse’s arm, but Jesse jerked back from him violently, must have said something upsetting to the man, for the latter’s face fell but continued to implore Jesse with hands open wide. Jesse said something heated, gave him one last staggering push before turning away from him then came stomping across the yard back to the house. Andrea stepped away from the window, waited for him at the futon so she could see his face as he walked in. When Jesse came through the door, his expression was stormy but quickly refashioned into a tight smile as soon as he saw her.

 

                “Who was that, Jesse?”

 

                His eyes widened. “Huh? No one,” he said hoarsely. “I mean, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about that guy.” He started towards the other room, passing her and Brock without looking at them. “I just need to use the rest room. Be right back.” Shortly after he rounded the speakers, she heard the door shut from the downstairs bathroom.

 

                “Mami, who was that?” Brock asked.

 

                “I don’t know, baby. I guess a friend of Jesse’s.” She turned to him and smiled, her arms crossed. “Hey, don’t let the popcorn get cold. You keep playing without me, okay? I need to ask Jesse something,” she told him as she walked off.

 

                She gave a gentle rap on the bathroom door. “Hey. Jesse. You alright?”

 

                “I’m fine. Just taking a piss,” he called out in answer. She didn’t move, but listened further as the sink turned on, the flow being interrupted by splashes on the porcelain. She heard him cough then more splashing, the sound of water being cut off a second later. When the door suddenly swung open, they both startled.

 

                “Whoa. You gotta go, or what? There’s another one upstairs, babe.” He tried another attempt at a smile to cover up his alarm, but it came off spectacularly unconvincing.

 

                “Jesse, is everything okay? That man looked pretty upset.”

 

                “Yeah, well, he always looks like that. Seriously, it’s not a big deal. He’s just … he’s, like, a former work associate of mine. He won’t bother us again.” Jesse took her by the elbow, steered her into the hall as his voice lowered. “Hey, you think you two could maybe … you know, stay over again?”

 

 

*******

 

                Andrea swallowed her cry as her back slammed into the beveled bar across top of the bedframe. It was hard enough that she expected bruises in the morning. Jesse gyrated into another forceful thrust, the wood jarring bone as she was pushed into it again. The wall shuddered momentarily behind her.

 

                “Oh, fuck. Yes, baby,” she whispered, her moans deep. Her wrists were roped at each bed post, arms wide across the beam, and the burning pinch on her skin as she rocked upwards gave her another surge of adrenaline, her cunt feeling huge. “Harder. I can take it,” she egged. Jesse’s thrusts sped up, the middle of her back now taking the full abuse of the frame, and Andrea opened her mouth wide. Her legs were wrapped around Jesse, right above his ass, and the harder he pumped, the more the muscles in her thighs worked to hold on.

 

                His hands slid behind her shoulders, pulled her forward so her weight wasn’t resting on the wood, and he grunted as she was bounced on his lap. The sound of their skin slapping against each other filled her ears, almost drowning out his heavy breaths into her neck. He stopped suddenly, held her upright with a hand on her waist as the other reached to untie her at one end.

 

                “Babe, what are you doing? It’s good, I’m alright. I promise,” she muttered through her panting.

 

                “Nah, it’s hurting you. And kinda noisy. Don’t want to wake up Brock.”

 

                Andrea felt the tiniest bit embarrassed that she hadn’t been thinking about Brock or the noise, at all, but then Jesse was leaning across to free her other wrist, releasing the knot rather neatly. As soon as she was loose, she circled her arms around his neck and let him guide her down on her back. He restarted with deep, measured thrusts, his head bent down as he watched their connecting parts. Jesse slowed his movements, seemed to be fascinated with the sight of his cock sliding in to her, and after a minute, Andrea brushed her fingers over his head, wanting to see his eyes.

 

                “Hey, babe. Look at me, okay?” she asked softly, startling him out of his reverie. He looked up in surprise, as if he’d just realized he was attached to someone.

 

                “Sorry,” he breathed before bending down to kiss her. She tightened her grip around his hips as he pushed in, lifted herself to meet him with a rough bump. “Do that biting thing again,” she whispered encouragingly, arching her sore back so that her breasts rose higher.

 

                “Wait,” he said as he moved up on his knees, dragging up her thighs to lie across his. “Put your hands over your head,” he instructed, his voice deep and gravelly. She complied instantly, hopeful that this aggressiveness hadn’t abated just yet. He crossed her arms at her wrists, pressed down on them with both hands. “Is this okay?” he asked.

 

                Andrea felt momentarily stymied. While it was exciting to have Jesse so open to some rougher sex, she was perplexed by where it had sprung from. He’d always been a generous and eager lover, but also respectful. He had never felt an urge to hold her down until they’d started seeing each other again. The change disturbed her as much as it thrilled her, and the combination was a little heady for her, the air around her thinning.

 

                “Yeah, hon. I like that,” she reassured. “But could you … put one of your hands on my throat at the same time?”

 

                He studied her for a second, glanced up at where he held her before shifting his weight to one side, his left pressing down on both of her wrists, and his right hand curving delicately around her neck. His breathing sped up, his chest heaving with the effort.

 

                “Here? It’s not too tight or anything, right?” He sounded nervous but determined.

 

                “No, it’s good, it’s good, baby. You can squeeze a little more. Just like that, yeah.” She sighed as her eyes closed, felt Jesse start to move inside her again and concentrated on all of the points their skin met. They stayed like that, clasped together, as he started to fuck her faster, her legs opening wider the more he pumped against her, heels digging into the backs of his thighs. The mattress sounded its distress but Jesse didn’t stop this time, his thrusts getting harder as their speed increased. Andrea moved up to meet him, her clit mashing against bone. The force of him on her body was like giant wings beating against her and she groaned in her need, imagining talons slicing her open. “Mmm, now, baby, do it now,” she cried.

 

                Jesse bit the side of her breast, his teeth secured into flesh as he banged her body into the mattress with a frantic velocity. She felt the tide rush over her, her mouth open in a silent cry. Then Jesse was kissing her, his guttural moans caught in her throat. She felt his body stiffen, then his hand squeezed reflexively, making her choke. Jesse instantly leapt off of her, eyes huge in the light from outside.

 

                “Shit, sorry. I forgot what I was … like, should we maybe have a safe word or something?”

 

                Andrea rolled on her side, her heart still racing. “A safe word? Are you serious? Jesse, what the hell is up with you?” she demanded.

 

                He turned sheepish. “What? I thought that’s what you wanted?”

 

                “What _I_ wanted?” She sat up, pulling the sheets across her lap. “Jesse, I just want us to be able to spend time together. I’m not expecting you to be my dom, all of a sudden. If you want to try something new, that’s fine, but you’re … I don’t know, there’s something going on. What did that man want with you?” she questioned, her curiosity enflamed.

 

                Jesse shifted in the dark, his back to her. “Nothing, I told you. I don’t really want to talk about it.” There was pain inflected through his tone as he brushed her off.

 

                She scooted closer to him, put her hands on his shoulders. “Jesse, don’t get upset. I’m just trying to understand.” She softened her voice, stroked the nape of his neck gently. “Hey, tell me whatever you want. I told you, I’m here if you need to talk; I’m not trying to force you into anything. But I know you well enough, Jesse, that I can tell something’s bothering you. I get worried. There was … something that happened to you, I could see it in your face when I asked you about the envelope full of cash. It’s why you went back to crystal, right? Something triggered it?”

 

                Jesse let out a deep sigh, his jaw jutting out as he scraped his back teeth. He shook his head as he rubbed at his eyes. “Nah, it was nothing. I’m just … I was weak. My willpower sucks ass. But you don’t got to worry about me, okay? Just having you and Brock here – it … it makes all the difference. Really.”

 

                She tucked her hands under his arms and slid them up his chest, pulling him to her until her breasts were flattened against his back, her chin propped on the bony edge of his shoulder. “Baby, if I feel the need for a safe word, I’ll let you know, okay? I told you about that stuff because I was trying to put it behind me. I was kind of fucked up. I wasn’t … I wasn’t a very good person when I was using. I did things I’m not proud of, okay? But it’s like … not so easy to give up getting high _and_ that kind of rush at the same time. I mean, I don’t know why I’m like this,” she said, feeling that familiar weight in her chest. “But it’s almost like you’re trying to tempt me back or something.”

 

                He finally turned to her, his face in shadow but his voice deep with concern. “Baby, I’m not … no, it’s not like that, I swear. I was … you know, curious, I guess. Like, I just wondered what you got out of it, that’s all. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he said, echoing her assurances from the last time she’d been in his bed. Andrea leaned over to kiss him, let her lips linger there as he held her. She leaned back to lace his fingers with hers, spoke with a solemnity that felt strangely earned.

 

                “If you have questions about that side of me, then just ask, hon. I don’t mind … doing more stuff with you if you talk to me about it first, okay? So we’re on the same page. Can you do that for me?”

 

                “Yeah. Yeah, of course,” he said. “That’s totally fair. You know, whatever you’re into – I want you to feel like you can tell me anything. Seriously. I don’t shock easily.”

 

                She sighed, wishing that she could believe him, the speed with which he had judged her before still fresh in her mind. _What kind of mother are you?_ She moved to the edge of the bed, felt around for her panties on the floor.

 

                “Look, Jesse, we’ll talk about it another time, okay? I’m going to take Brock home. Let him wake up in his bed.” She stood up as she slid them on. “Why don’t you come over to my place next time? _Our_ place. Say, on Saturday? Brock meant to ask you over for dinner.” Jesse had reached over to turn on the lamp and the light made her turn away for a moment. Her eyes adjusted, she looked back and saw him get out of bed, seemingly annoyed again.

 

                “Um, Saturday? I, uh, gotta do something that day. I mean, not all of it, but you know,” he looked up, his expression guilty, “I won’t be free until late, probably.”

 

                She reached for her shirt. “How late?” she asked casually, but Jesse stared off at the ceiling, took a long pause before answering.

 

                “I’m … not … sure. Eightish? Maybe, nine? Is that too late for dinner?”

 

                Andrea hurried to finish dressing, seeing the time on Jesse’s nightstand. “We can make it work,” she said, wriggling her feet into her sandals.

 

                Jesse slipped on his jeans as she ran a hand through her hair trying to detangle what she could. “I’ll take Brock down to the car, okay? You get your stuff and I’ll meet you at the door. I’ll text you about Saturday when I know for sure, alright? Is that cool?”

 

                She nodded silently, wondered if he’d actually show up.

 

                While she got her things from the living room, she heard the stairs creak as he made his way down. Brock was asleep over his shoulder as he stepped into the room, his pants riding up his legs where Jesse held him. She opened the door and night flooded in, the porch light casting its yellow glare while crickets called to each other. The sound of cars on the highway was a far-off gentle hum, not like her old house where the cacophony of zipping tires and motors had been continuously present right at her window. Jesse followed her out to the car, eased Brock across the back seat.

 

                “You gonna be alright getting him inside?” he asked, looking suddenly waifish and young as he shivered from the cold, arms crossed over a bare chest.

 

                “We’ll be fine, Jesse. Thanks for carrying him down.” She reached up to hug him, as much to warm him up as to say goodbye. “Get in the house, baby, before you freeze.” She hesitated a moment, afraid to sound clingy. “I hope we see you soon,” she said, turning quickly to get in her car.

 

                When she drove away, she watched Jesse in her rearview mirror, standing on the curb with arms still crossed. He stood there unmoving as she drove all the way to the end of the street. She turned her blinker on and rounded the corner, his body disappearing from her view. Andrea imagined him standing there well after she’d gone, waiting until she arrived home before he sensed she was safe and let himself back in his house.

 

 


	6. The Introduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a word on a previous chapter. I've been questioned already about Gus being surprised that Walter was Jesse's teacher. It was never explicitly stated on the show that either Gus or Mike knew this, though there was perhaps an assumption that a bit of information like that would have come up during their background checks. The fact that it was never addressed by these two characters, however, left me intrigued. What if they hadn't known? I specifically wanted to bring it up in the story to draw a parallel between the way Gus views Jesse, to the way that Walter views Jesse, and let this play out in the plot. We'll see whether it's effective or not.
> 
> Thanks to those of you that have commented. I appreciate the Kudos.

 

_Some worthless junkie. For him, you intervened and put us all at risk? Some contemptible junkie who couldn't keep the peace for eight hours?_

 

 

               

                “I’m going on record. This, uh, this blows,” Jesse whispered as he scanned the ceiling listening for any indication of what the cops were doing overhead. They could be stuck down there in limbo for hours if any more agents were called in. The phone rang, already clutched in Tyrus’ grip, and he answered with a hushed greeting.

 

                “For you.”

 

                Tyrus held the phone tucked against his shoulder, his cool glare giving away nothing as Jesse stood up to take it. He held out his hand but Tyrus remained stock still, forcing Jesse to reach over and take the phone himself. He rolled his eyes at the man, instantly annoyed by the petty macho crap Tyrus liked to exert in his role as Jesse’s babysitter.

 

                “Yeah?”

 

                “Do you know what is happening upstairs?” Gus asked in that deliberate way of his.

 

                “I have a pretty good idea,” Jesse admitted.

 

                “This is all a result of your former partner. Do you understand now? Do you see why this can’t continue?”

 

                “You know, I get it, the guy’s a complete and total dick.” He glanced behind him, stepped farther away from Tyrus as he spoke low into the receiver. “You still want me there at seven o’clock, right?” he asked innocently.

 

                There was silence for a moment. “Yes.”

 

                “So, then, I guess you know what my position is, huh? Figure something else out.”

 

                He flung the phone back at Tyrus, taking satisfaction out of watching him bow forward from the force as he caught it at his stomach. Jesse slipped off the top half of his Tychem suit, cinching the arms into a knot across his waist as he sat down to wait for the cops to finish their inspection. A small part of him hoped that they would gain a reason to open up the industrial washing machine and find the stairs, to bust open the whole sordid operation and bring it all crashing down around Gus’s players, even Mr. White. It would almost be preferable to the evening that awaited him.

 

                In truth, he’d been a little shocked at the steps Mr. White had already taken. Jesse couldn’t shake the image of his face the other night, how scared he’d been. But to have brought Schrader to the lab seemed too crazy even for that walking windbag of insanity. Something must have gone down. It didn’t worry him that Mr. White was still under the impression that Gus might kill him – let the guy suffer a little bit – he knew that Gus would keep his word on the deal. Schrader was still an unknown entity, however, and if he had DEA sniffing out the laundromat, he obviously knew more than Mr. White was claiming. The information only confused him again, left him wishing that Walt was back on his side before remembering that the guy had always been an asshole. He really shouldn’t have been surprised by the latest chain of events, but that didn’t erase the sting. Concentrating on the betrayal too much made his resolve waver; kept him questioning whether Mr. White was really worth it to turn himself over to a creep like Gus. Yet no matter how angry he felt about the whole mess, he still couldn’t sign off on Mr. White’s death warrant, his old teacher the last link to a life he wasn’t quite ready to give up on.

 

                It was more than that, though. He’d been having dreams again about that night at Gale’s, only this time, it wasn’t the alternate chemist he was shooting in the face. Jesse would wake up in a cold sweat with his heart racing, an imprint on his brain of Mr. White’s horrified visage as a gun blasted, the body falling backwards while a dime-sized hole in his forehead darkened. As much as he wanted Walt out of his life, he couldn’t contribute to the man’s end, not when Jesse knew how much he’d gone through for his family. They would be devastated at the loss. It hurt Jesse just to think about it.

 

                Tyrus gave him the all clear and he stood up to pull the button on the control panel, the machines immediately whirring back to life in chugs and whines. He had less than five hours before he had to present himself to Gus again, a thought that terrified him as much as it made his flesh crawl. Jesse had only to turn his head to see the spot where Victor had bled out as a reminder of what Gus was capable of, and it was this memory he kept revisiting as he finished the batch. By the time he was seated at the diffuser filling the baking sheets, one by one, with the glutinous blue, his heartbeat had moved to his ears, leaving a dull ache behind his eyes and in the clench of his teeth. A ticking clock sounded in his head incessantly, and once he’d slid the last of the trays into cold storage and closed the heavy door, the fear in his gut had churned up enough acid to burn his throat.

 

                Jesse stood at his locker with trembling hands as he pulled his sneakers free, his yellow suit stuffed in a pail. His cigarettes sat waiting like a pack of C4, the ticking becoming louder between his ears. He picked up the pack and flipped open the top, glanced up at the camera while tucking the box into his front pocket. He imagined Gus peering down at him through the other end of the lens and tipped his head in acknowledgement before trouncing up the roundabout stairs to make his way out.

 

******

 

                Eyes closed, he took another long, deep breath. Got out of the car and strode towards the house. Before he’d even reached the sidewalk he heard his phone belch. He slipped it out of his pocket and looked at its face.

 

                                _Door is open. Come upstairs_

 

     Jesse sighed, rubbed fingers over his face. Gus wasn’t going to make this easy on him, he felt it already. When he got to the door, he resisted the urge to knock, gripped the knob resolutely and let himself inside.

 

                It was quiet on the other side. No one appeared to be about, but Jesse turned to look up the stairs, expecting Gus to be standing at the top. There was no one there. He looked around the foyer, unsure of whether he should undress now or wait until he got upstairs. With another suffering sigh, he toed off his shoes, bent down and pulled off his socks. On the pads of his feet, he made his way silently up the staircase.

 

                When he got to Gus’s room, the door was open. Jesse paused, looked behind him as he contemplated running back to his car for a moment. But that would be the cowardly route. Jesse grit his teeth, squeezed his eyes tightly again, willing for some kind of brilliant plan to pop into his head, a telepathic gift from Mr. White, the answers to everything just neatly landing where they needed to be. The continued silence unnerved him as he took a few more steps, expecting someone or something to jump out at him any second. Gus was hardly what he would call predictable and Jesse had already built up horrifying visions of what awaited him in the bedroom.

 

                He stood at the doorway and saw Gus seated on his bed, as before. Jesse nodded to him once then pulled his tee-shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor at his side. No words were exchanged as he unzipped his jeans and pushed them down, Jesse’s sight remaining on his legs as he stepped out of the holes of his pants. He could see that he was shaking as he slid down his boxers but he ignored it, striding willfully to the same spot Gus had him stand in the previous visit and immediately kneeling, his hands already folded over the back of his head, elbows up. He cleared his throat, moved his knees out farther as he remembered the unpleasant feel of the police stick _thwapping_ between his legs. He tried not to look at Gus or at the bed, although it was hard not to notice the ominous look of it – the cherry frame a massive sleigh style with wooden rings rounding its edges like rows of brass knuckles – but stared straight ahead at the window, watching the sunlight fade behind sheer curtains and wishing desperately that he was on the outside.

 

                “I liked that you waited until I could see you before undressing,” Gus said into the earnest silence. “Always do that.”

 

                Jesse met his stare. “Whatever,” he returned flatly. _Creep._ He wanted to say the word aloud but refrained, understanding that it probably wouldn’t be too smart to antagonize Gus in this situation.

 

                “You came straight here?” The tone with which the question was asked indicated that Gus already knew the answer.

 

                “No. I went to a bar first,” Jesse admitted. Gus would have figured it out soon enough, anyway, if he hadn’t already had Jesse tailed.

 

                “I see.” There was a heavy pause. “I hope you did not succumb to any hard liquor that might upset the delicate balance you’ve achieved in your sobriety, Jesse.”

 

                He sighed in irritation. “It was just a beer. _One_ beer. You wanna call up the place and confirm?”

 

                “That won’t be necessary,” Gus answered patiently, his eyes glued to Jesse’s. “So, you have not been home to clean up? I can smell the chemicals on your skin.”

 

                He didn’t wait for Jesse to answer, but stood up and walked around him to enter the bathroom. The sound of water pounding into a tub came a moment later and Jesse grit his teeth once more, expecting that he’d be doing that all night and on into the next day if this was how things were starting out. He felt like a child again, being told to clean up before going to bed. The water continued its deluge while Jesse heard bottles clinking against each other, a toilet seat being dropped. He glanced around the room to take in its details, looking for something more useful than intimidating beds.

 

                The closet doors were open, but although Jesse couldn’t see inside very far, he could tell that it was huge; a walk-in that he imagined held many hangers of yellow shirts and dark slacks, perhaps a slew of impeccably tailored suits. The walls of the room were mostly bare with the exception of one painting near the window, of a boat on a rocky ocean, its lone figure fighting the oars. He turned his head, saw that there were actual photos on Gus’s nightstand which he hadn’t noticed before. On his knees, Jesse sidled over a little closer, tipped forward to see their faces. Two young women smiled at him from opposing frames pinned together. The one on the left was stunning: dark flashing eyes and a broad grin showing off gleaming teeth. Her midnight hair was a mass of thick, tight curls, her cinnamon skin almost glowing under the glass. The close-up was formal, as if the shot was from a graduation or special event, and something hung from her neck, the emblem cut off at the bottom of the picture.

 

                The girl across from her appeared to be her opposite in all ways, not just proximity. The smile was pinched, emanating from a thin, dour face that was as white as his. Honey-colored hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, making her expression more severe. Her blouse went all the way up her neck, full of lace and pearl buttons, but there was something instantly intense and confrontational about her gaze, her eyes shining as brightly as her partner’s. Both women looked in their early twenties, one maybe slightly younger, and Jesse had the distinct feeling that they were related.

 

                The photographs of the couple next to it, however, were even more interesting. Gus was smiling in both, which was alarming enough, his arm draped over a younger man who appeared just as elated, one with piercing eyes and a kind face. The picture below it was a continuation of the moment, perhaps a few seconds later, with the men in the same position only the younger one had turned to Gus, his nose tenderly against the other man’s cheek and eyes closed. Instinctively, Jesse reached out to pick up the frame and take a closer look.

 

                “Those are my daughters,” a voice said behind him and Jesse jolted violently, gaping over his shoulder as Gus went to sit back down on the bed again. His hand instantly went back to his head, lacing fingers with the other to keep them from shaking.

 

                “Uh, okay. Both of them?” The question hung in the space between them, Jesse’s tone weighted with the inference. He finally took notice of what Gus wore, the light orange belted tunic and silk pants looking like something a yoga instructor would be sporting, and wondered if it was for comfort or efficiency.

 

               “Their mother is white,” Gus explained. He cast his gaze to his lap, looked as if he was debating saying more, then glanced up to meet Jesse’s eyes. “My father was, also.”

 

                Jesse nodded his head. “Right on. You still married?” he asked, pretty sure that he knew the answer already, but needing to talk to calm his nerves.

 

                “We have been divorced for a long time. She left Chile around the time that I did, taking my daughters with her. It was for the best. Things were very dangerous at that time and I needed them safe.”

 

                Jesse glanced at the photos again, landing on the image of the curly-headed man. “They’re real pretty,” he commented absently. “Their mom must be a knock-out.” He jutted his chin forward. “Who’s that? Is he the guy?”

 

                “Which guy is that, Jesse?”

 

                Jesse felt his face heat up, embarrassed to point out the comparison. The man in the photo was soft and pretty, was obviously in love. “The one that … the one that got killed.” _That I remind you of,_ he thought to himself.

 

                Gus took a sharp breath, exhaled like a leaking tire. “Max,” he said gravely. “Yes, he is the one.” He stood up suddenly, motioned for Jesse to stand up as well. “The bath should be ready. Let us move into the next room.”

 

                “Uh, I can wash myself, you know. Been doin’ it solo for a while now.” His body groaned in his hind quarters and back as he stood on his feet.

 

                “I am sure you are quite gifted with this skill, Jesse. Nevertheless, I will assist.”

 

                Jesse rolled his eyes, twisted his jaw as he turned towards the bathroom, his protest depicted in his stance. “This should be fun,” he drawled, as he stepped on to the tile. Gus pressed a hand to his back to goad him forward and Jesse jumped again, the feel of skin on skin a prelude to an act that he didn’t want to think about just yet.

 

                The tub was enormous, practically the size of a small pool. The tiles were white and blue, a Mediterranean look to the design, and the room gleamed. He’d never seen a bathroom so clean. It was almost blinding. He let his hands drop to his side as he walked up to the ceramic, hoped that the size didn’t indicate that Gus would be joining him. That would be a bit too much to bear. He bent over to gauge the temperature of the water through a layer of foam before realizing that Gus was behind him. He jerked his body upwards and took a few steps back.

 

                “Please. Get in. I have your toilette waiting for you.”

 

                “I don’t need the toilet, man. Especially if you’re staying in the room.”

 

                Gus looked amused. “ _Toilette. Twa._ The items I have picked out for you to wash up with.

 

                Jesse made a disgusted noise in his throat. “Whatever. You got soap? That shit usually works just fine.”

 

                Gus’s smile drew into a tight line. He pointed to the water. “Please. Get in. I will take care of the rest.”

 

                “ _Oh. My. God,”_ Jesse whispered as he climbed into the tub, bolstering himself for yet another indignity. He eased himself carefully into the steaming, frothy water, pulling his knees up to rest his chin on them as he wrapped arms around his legs. At least the bubbles covered him up. “This is fucking stupid,” he complained. “What’s the point of all this, anyway? What are we doing here? Is this how you get off? You like playing Daddy?”

 

                Gus was laying down a thick folded towel on top of the bathmat as padding, but paused to lock eyes with Jesse before kneeling down on the floor.

 

                “This is not playing, Jesse. You lack discipline. You are in need of an education, one that your previous teacher has failed to provide. You are a boy in a dangerous world, and you need to learn what it means to be a man,” he said.

 

                Instantly, Jesse’s anger surged. “ _Fuck you,_ asshole. I ain’t no kid, I _am_ a man. I take care of my shit, so don’t you be tellin’ me,” he argued before a quick slap to his face shut him up.

 

                “You do not speak this way to me,” Gus snarled.

 

                But instead of taking offense, Jesse laughed – a snicker deep in his throat. “Dude … you are _literally_ giving me a bubble bath, and this is your way of teaching me to be a _man?_ What, are we gonna do some manscaping later? Shave my balls and then rub me down with oil? I must have missed those scenes in all those action movies with men doing manly things, huh? What kind of shit were you watching? _Spartacus?_ ”

 

                “If you continue to try my patience, you will not like the results,” Gus threatened. He looked deadly serious, and for a moment, Jesse felt his fear return.

 

                “Well, tell me what you mean by that, then? I’ve done everything you asked me to do. I took care of business, even when you dumped me in the middle of a drug war, I got you out of there. How is that not being a man?”

 

                Gus had grabbed hold of a washcloth and draped it across his palm, was drizzling some kind of gel out of a glass bottle into the center of it. “This was a good start. You showed me promise, Jesse, but you need to understand this life better. You allow your emotion to rule you, to shake you by the tail and throw you into every situation like a cat with its claws out. You must learn how to control this. I know you have some intelligence. Use it more often and it will serve you well.” He dipped the cloth in the water and tipped his chin to Jesse. “Come down farther. Lift up your arm.”

 

                Jesse grew quiet as he pondered Gus’s words. He’d be the first to admit that he got upset easily, but there was a lot to get upset about these days. Still, the idea that Gus thought he was smart massaged his ego enough that he scooted down and did as Gus asked. Immediately, the sudsy cloth was brought to his armpit and Gus began to rub it vigorously, eventually spanning the cloth out to his chest. Jesse rolled his eyes to the ceiling but dutifully lifted his other arm before Gus even said anything. The gel was a cooling relief on his skin, a mentholated smell released into his nose. By the time that Gus had progressed to his back and shoulders, Jesse had started to feel his muscles loosen, felt himself relax just the slightest.

 

                “Is that what you did with your boyfriend?” he asked suddenly. His voice boomed in the hollow spaciousness of the room. “Gave him _lessons_ on how to be macho?”

 

                “Max had … his own education,” Gus began. “He lost his parents when he was young. He had to grow up on the streets, let men use him so that he could eat. He had seen many horrible things but he still … there was something very innocent about him. Max always wanted to see the good in people. I should have broken him of this habit.”

 

                “So … did that Eladio dude have something to do with him getting killed, too? I mean, why are you keeping Tuco’s uncle alive and getting rid of everyone else if he’s the guy? What’s your plan for him?” Jesse wondered if there would be any more murdering sprees.

 

                “Hector will outlive them all,” Gus said somewhat jovially, a disturbing smile touching his lips. “He has lost everyone that he has ever cared about. He is nothing now but a worthless cripple doomed to live out the rest of his pitiful existence sitting in his own shit.”

 

                “Right. Got it.” Gus ran the cloth up the back of Jesse’s neck and up over his head. He felt the water trickle down his skin and shivered. “So do you think there’s a chance that whoever’s left over there will retaliate? We gotta watch our backs now?”

 

                “No.”

 

                “How can you be sure?”

 

                Gus brought the cloth around the front of him again, ran it in a strip from his throat down to his crotch before dragging it out of the water to squeeze it in a ball over Jesse’s shoulders, a skim of bubbles trailing down with the stream. “Because I know. It is a long history, Jesse. One you do not need to concern yourself with. You simply continue to cook Walt’s formula and we will be fine.”

 

                Jesse swallowed tightly as he thought about the implications of that and what might happen at the end of the three months. He had to come up with a plan soon. He saw the vial in his mind again, the idea of poisoning Gus still so surreal and impossible.

 

                “Turn around,” Gus said, dispelling Jesse’s concentration.

 

                “What do you mean?” he asked, feeling a sudden sense of unease.

 

                Gus demonstrated a flipping motion with his hands. “I want you to look this way,” he said as he pointed to the other wall. “Perhaps it will be easiest on your knees.”

 

                Instantly, Jesse recalled Gus’s hands on him when he’d been forced to masturbate, the humiliation of the moment returning, making his cheeks burn. “Why? What are you planning on doing?”

 

                But Gus’s attention was elsewhere, retrieving the bottle of gel again to pour some more on the cloth. “Finish cleaning you, of course,” he said abstractly. “Now do as I ask.”

 

                He didn’t move at first, just gawked at Gus for a moment longer as the real reason he was there came slamming into his spine. It wasn’t as if Jesse hadn’t understood what would be required of him when he gave his consent. He was hardly an innocent, particularly where sex was concerned, and he’d certainly used it to advance his own needs. The party in his home that had devolved into an orgiastic nightmare of filthy writhing bodies was only a recent example of his meth-fueled binges, even if it had been the worst. While screwing whores was nothing new for Jesse, there had been as many guests in his bed that week as there’d been nights of the debauchery. He had awakened one early morning to find pretty boy with the neck tats that would eventually try to abscond with his bag of cash giving him an enthusiastic blowjob. Jesse had been too tired to push him off. It hadn’t even been satisfying to see little Miss Pissed-his-Pants on his floor bound and gagged later on, the entire seedy drama only providing more fodder for his self-loathing.

 

                When he finally turned around, Jesse propped up his chin on the edge of the bath, let the rest of him stay submerged under the water. He imagined other things, other places behind his eyes while Gus went back to scrubbing him clean, invading areas of Jesse’s body as if it were his right, as if Jesse was nothing more than a piece of property. He saw Gus rise out of the corner of his eye and a panic settled into his gut.

 

                “Please stand up. We are done here.”

 

                Jesse stayed silent as Gus toweled him down. He didn’t make a sound while Gus filled his palm with a dollop of lotion and then rubbed it into Jesse’s skin, from the back of his neck down to his heels. And when Gus filled his hand a second time and then tended to Jesse’s front, the most that was elicited from him was a grunt as Gus grazed the skin behind his balls. His shivering had increased, yet he did nothing to warm himself or cover him up. Gus put a hand on his hip.

 

                “After you,” he said, waving to the room beyond the bathroom door. Jesse forced himself to take steps, to keep walking until they were back at the bed. At least the instructions gave him something to focus on. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if Gus started kissing him again.

 

                Gus extended his hand towards the bed. “Please. On all fours, if you would.”

 

                “What?” he croaked, not sure if he heard him right.

 

                “I want you on this bed, on your hands and knees. Face towards the pillows.”

 

                He couldn’t seem to come up with any bitter retorts, no stinging insults. All the words in his throat had dried up like raisins, stuck together in a cancerous mass. Jesse climbed on the bed, barely able to swallow as he stared at the wall, knowing his bare ass was pointing towards the large mirror over the dresser that would play witness to whatever came next.

 

                “Stay like this,” Gus cautioned, another press to Jesse’s hip. There were footsteps padding away for a moment then a sound of chain link running off a metal bar. Jesse’s curiosity took hold but he wouldn’t turn around, kept his sight on the blank wall in front of him. The tremors in his legs and arms grew more intense as he tried to keep himself upright. When Gus touched him again, he almost leapt off the bed.

 

                “I need you to lay your head down, Jesse. Here, put your hands up this way.”

 

                Still shaking, he leaned down, attempted to push his arms up the way Gus was directing. He caught sight of the chains he’d heard, the end of one being clipped to a wooden ring in the headboard. The chain was connected to a leather band, and Jesse could see the snaps at each end before it was circled around his wrist and connected. He lifted his arm up and pulled, watched the chain go taut.

 

                “What the hell, yo,” he uttered before Gus was walking around to his other side.

 

                “It’s safer this way,” Gus explained. “For your protection.”

 

                “ _My_ protection?” he echoed doubtfully, but Gus had already manacled his other wrist and had moved to the foot of the bed. When Jesse heard another chain rustle, he pulled his leg closer. “Hey, _hey_ … you better tell me again that you’re not gonna fuck me up. If you’re gonna start slicing me up or some sick shit –”

 

                “Jesse, calm down. I am not going to hurt you. Now put your leg back.”

 

                Once the leather bands were wrapped around his ankles, Jesse felt completely terrified. He had absolutely no idea what Gus would do next. He could rape him, he could stab him to death, he could peel off his skin, and Jesse wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing about it. He closed his eyes and cursed Mr. White for the thousandth time in his head. Then Gus was pushing down on the back of his head insistently.

 

                “All the way down,” he said, keeping his hand firm until the side of Jesse’s face was pressed into the comforter.

 

                Jesse kept his eyes squeezed shut, grabbed the chains at his wrists and folded them once around his fingers as he felt Gus spread his legs wider. Too wide. He felt ridiculously exposed, a single breath from Gus on his skin making his entire body tense like a guitar string being manipulated into tune. He heard Gus moving away from the bed, the sound of clothes being shed and then a dip of the mattress as another body settled upon it.

 

                “Just do me a favor and use a lot of lube, alright?” Jesse begged as he felt hands on his backside spread him open. “I ain’t used to this so I’m gonna nee – _mother fuck!”_ He shouted hoarsely as the damp feel of tongue penetrated him, making heat rise along his skin. He buried his face in the bed and screamed again, the ongoing exploration of his asshole like a slimy garden slug insisting on entering his body. His mortification was entrenched through every muscle and every hair on his arms and legs as the assault went on. Jesse could feel Gus’s arms spear between his legs then curl around to grip past his hips with steel fingers extended to pry Jesse open further.

 

                “Oh my God,” he groaned as Gus straightened himself up, bringing Jesse with him. His knees were no longer on the bed, his lower half lifted in the air as Gus continued to dine on him like a starving man. The tongue breached through the ring of muscle at the same time that Gus ran a finger down the back of Jesse’s cock and he moaned into the bed so loudly that he soaked the duvet, the cotton sucking into his mouth. For a brief moment, the tongue was gone, and Jesse was about to sound his relief when it returned to rove around his testicle, one of them quickly disappearing into Gus’s mouth. He sucked on it hard and Jesse groaned again, his face away from the bed this time so that it rang through the house.

 

                “What are you fucking doing to me, you fuck?” he called before the unmistakable feel of both testicles being enveloped into wet heat left him screaming in his throat. He could feel Gus stretching his mouth around them, his head moving from side to side to get every bit of skin, like a cobra devouring a chicken’s eggs, and once he had them, once Jesse’s scrotum was tucked between pressing lips he felt the teeth grab on, felt them tighten their hold and drag him backwards while a finger pressed against him. A sudden pain in his wrist made him realize he was pulling back, was pushing his ass into Gus’s face while his arms were working against the chains. His balls were released and before Jesse could cry in relief a sodden glob of spit hit his anus, the finger quick to use the lubrication to worm its way in. Jesse screamed again.

 

                “Fucking stop, already! Enough,” he demanded, but he was lifted higher, the tongue now slithering along his cock as the finger deepened its penetration. He dared to open his eyes, his head bent so that he could see Gus’s body, could see the commanding erection waiting for him. “Oh, Christ,” he despaired.

 

                A hard slap flamed his haunch. “Stop this. You need only to relax.”

 

                “Then fucking put me down,” he cried.

 

                Right away he was positioned back on his knees, the finger still stuffed inside him. Gus made Jesse spread his legs wider, started to stroke him off while the tongue went back to work in tandem with the probing finger. It pulled out of him for a moment before Jesse could feel a double thickness pressed to him as another gob of spit was smeared along the creases, rapid licks coating the taint of skin underneath it. He was feeling short of breath, his head dizzy, when he felt teeth sink into his ass. He yelled, jumping at the pain, but then feeling the thickness stretch him open as both fingers pushed inside him.

 

                “ _Ohgodohgodohgod,”_ he moaned, coherent enough to notice that Gus was moving under him, that he’d suddenly switched his position. When soft lips wrapped around the spongy tip of his cock, he clenched his whole body, from his eyelids to his toes. Gus used his free hand to grip into Jesse’s thigh and slid it farther away, his mouth taking more of Jesse in. The hardness in his ass deepened but this time Jesse bore down and let them in, the slick feel around his cock sliding upwards until he was up against Gus’s throat and his cockhead was gloriously swallowed for a time-stopping moment. Gus pulled back and then stilled, only part of Jesse’s dick nestled in his mouth. The fingers had stopped moving as well, sitting snugly in place while the pulse in his ass intensified. Jesse waited for a second, too, wondered what Gus was going to do next. When nothing happened, he got the message clearly. He pushed back against the fingers awkwardly, then thrust his hips forward, his cock getting warmer as it slid back into wetness. The thick wad of dual digits pressed so far into him that Jesse could feel Gus’s knuckles against flesh, keeping his cheeks split wide. He thrust again, accompanied by a deep and elongated moan as Gus started to suck him off, his head off the bed and working tirelessly. The fingers began moving faster and Jesse’s thrusts followed to keep up the pace, allowing the rhythms to lull him into a single-minded focus, his thoughts now on his encroaching orgasm.

 

                The sounds disturbed him most, but Jesse tuned them out and listened only to his heart pounding, the echo of it still resonating in his bottom. He didn’t think about the way the ring of skin around the fingers stretched with every movement, or the way the fullness in his ass left him as pinned as his shackled limbs. His hips started to snap with their increasing speed, the pressure at both ends giving way to a looming sensation, oncoming and blissful. Jesse started muttering under his breath as it drew near, not making any sense but desperate for this to be over already.

 

                It was there, just around the corner, ready to release him, when suddenly everything was changing. The fullness disappeared, the wet mouth was gone, and Gus was fiddling with something at the end of the bed.

 

                “Hey, what the ..” Jesse started groggily, before he felt his body flipped over. “Hey!”

 

                Gus must have undone the restraints at his ankle, for his legs were pressed apart before he could take a breath. His hard-on was painful, the need to come overbearing, but then Gus was on him, the feel of another cock pressed to his own causing him to grunt in surprise. Hard flesh was rubbing against his and Jesse was so close already, the interruption only serving to make him more desperate for a release. When he looked up for a moment, he realized Gus wasn’t wearing his glasses, his features set in a grim determination as he moved against Jesse, his grip around them both as his hand flew up and down. Jesse arched his back, rolled his head until he was staring unblinking at the ceiling, his mouth open and a long groan let loose as his orgasm hit. Gus’s body continued to rock against his as Jesse felt warm splats hit his chest, his stomach, the fluttering feel of skin around his cock burning him. The climax subsided like a train running over him while he was bound to the tracks, and Jesse attempted to turn away, to twist his body into a ball. But Gus held him down, a hand upon the middle of his chest, and Jesse felt another series of wet drops jettisoned across him, one landing roundly on his cheek.

 

                “Jesus Christ,” he swore. “What the fuck.” Heavy pants seized his throat, his breathing coming as hard as a speared bull’s, his vision going in and out with his exhaust.

 

                The tongue was back, only this time cascading along his torso, licking up the residue. A heavy weight lay across him as Gus’s face drew near. Jesse was still panting as Gus swallowed up his remaining breaths in his mouth, kissing him with a fervent passion that surprised Jesse, made him dizzier as he tried to resist. Gus held his head in place as the kiss went deeper, and the notion that Gus’s tongue was in his mouth only moments after being up his ass made Jesse squirm that much harder. The other man finally gave up, got off of him and stepped to the floor.

 

                “That went well,” Gus commented breezily, pulling his slacks from over the bedframe and slipping them on as Jesse continued to shudder visibly post-climax, his body twitching with the onslaught of sensations. For an older guy, he was incredibly fit, and Jesse’s first taste of Gus’s strength was enough to have him worried about the remaining twenty three hours.

 

                “I hope you are hungry. I have made Cazuela de Ave for tonight,” he said, his tone cheerful as he tied the belt around his tunic. “This is a favorite of mine,” he added as he headed to the bathroom, and Jesse was left to ponder if he was talking about the meal or the sex.

 

*******

               

 

                Sitting at the dining room table, Jesse pulled the bathrobe around him tighter, his grip on the lapels at his throat. He probably looked like an old woman, but he didn’t care, instinctively reeling back an inch as Gus went to walk by him. He wasn’t ready for any more touching this evening.

 

                “Would you like some soda again, or perhaps something healthier? I have a delicious papaya juice.”

 

                “Whatever you think is best,” he answered meekly, staring at the bowl of food swimming in a consommé. There was a corn cob in there and Jesse had no idea how to eat it, couldn’t figure out which utensil he was supposed to use. Eating would also require that he let go of his robe and he wasn’t quite prepared for that yet.

 

                He felt like his skull had just been blown out of the back of his head. There was no denying that Jesse had just come pretty damn intensely. The shame of it made him want to hide under the table, made him want to rescind on his offer to keep Mr. White alive. He still had the night and most of tomorrow to get through and that was a thought that had his nerves screaming for something chemical, even natural, at this point – he was ready to crawl into his bong for the next several weeks.

 

                Gus sat the glass of juice next to Jesse's plate and sat down, pouring himself a glass of white wine. Jesse stared at the wine longingly, imagining opening the small tube and letting the lethal powder sprinkle down, imagined Gus drinking it unbeknownst of what lie in store for him. But then Gus had survived a poisoning already, hadn’t he? Jesse’s panic spread throughout him, wondering what Mr. White would do in this situation.

 

                “Do you not like it?” Gus paused, his spoon midway to his mouth.

 

                “Um, no, I’m sure it’s good, I, uh, just … not that hungry at the moment,” he said, his robe still clutched in a death grip.

 

                Gus seemed to appraise him for a moment. “Sex always gives me an appetite,” he remarked before slurping his soup. Jesse tried not to cringe noticeably, closed his eyes for a beat as he picked up his own spoon.

 

                “Do I eat the corn before or after?” he asked with feigned interest.

 

                “Eat it however you like. This is meant to be comfort food. My mother would make this for us when it would start to get cold back home. She had learned only a handful of Chilean dishes, but this one was her favorite.”

 

                Jesse picked up the corn and took a bite, the juiciness adding much flavor to it. He took a sip of the soup from the bowl. It was warming and pleasant, and heat flooded through his chest. “Where’d your Mom grow up, then?” he asked out of habit, attempting to be polite. He kept his eyes to his food as he poked a piece of chicken.

 

                “She grew up in Cape Verde, surrounded by water and warm climates. Santiago would never get that cold, but she hated the smog. It was very … difficult for her there.” Gus paused and Jesse glanced at him to see his expression. He looked pensive as he stared into his bowl just as Jesse had been doing a minute before.

 

                “Where’s she live now?”

 

                “In the ground. She died when I was very young.” Gus raised his head to take a sip of wine and Jesse was glad that he had put his glasses back on. He looked more Gus that way, scary and formidable.

 

                “Sorry. That’s rough.” He broke off a piece of bread and dipped it in his bowl, suddenly feeling famished.

 

                “She killed herself,” Gus announced as he put down his glass with reverence. Jesse felt a stirring of sympathy for a brief second, reminding himself quickly that the man before him was a murderer and a creep.

 

                “Why’d she do that?”

 

                Gus turned to him, smiled sadly. “She was a very unhappy woman. My father took her away from her home, to a country that didn’t welcome her. It is not easy to grow up with black skin where I come from. You tend to stand out, become a figure of curiosity. And there was my father, as well. He could be a difficult man with a frightening temper.”

 

                Jesse felt increasingly uncomfortable with the discussion. He didn’t need Gus opening up to him. He didn’t want to know Gus, at all. He went back to his _cazuela_ , using a fork to attack the hefty pieces of potato.

 

                “The maids found her one morning. She had hung herself,” Gus explained dispassionately. “I was eight years old. My brother was a year younger.” He lifted his napkin and dabbed it at his chin. “It’s good, no?”

 

                “Huh? Oh, uh, yeah. Delicious.” Jesse’s chill returned, seeping through his body as quickly as it had fled.

 

                “You need to be fortified for tomorrow. We rise very early in this house.”

 

                “What’s gonna happen tomorrow?” Jesse asked with a mounting sense of dread. He already had a pretty good idea where he was going to be sleeping tonight. It would be surprising if he made it to morning without getting fucked.

 

                “You will see,” Gus said cryptically.

 

                “Am I going to have to take another bath? Or you think you can let me shower myself?” He couldn’t help himself. The whole experience was galling.

 

                Gus smiled again, although this time it was a lot more chilling. “I think you will want a shower when we are done.”

 

                Jesse’s fingers scrambled to his neck again, tugged at the robe where it had fallen open and pulled it up to his chin.

               

 

               


	7. The First Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there. Just wanted to leave a note in regards to the content. Most of the names of places mentioned in Gustavo's past are real, historic locations. There will also be names of key players in the 1973 coup d'etat mentioned and their involvement in the subsequent reign over Chile. The major events that Gus reminisces over were inspired by things that actually happened under Pinochet's rule. The torture described herein is not from my imagination, but came from real accounts documented at Amnesty and other sources.
> 
> I am unable to write porn without plot. I just can't do it. But I wanted the sex scenes to be explicit as a means to highlight the somewhat psychosexual horror of this 'relationship', for lack of a better word, for both parties. I can't imagine that a person that has spent years of their life torturing people as their _job_ wouldn't be affected by it forever after. The BDSM tag is there for a reason. Things are gonna get rough for our boy. :(
> 
> Oh, and Walter is around - we'll hear from him soon.

 

 

_Never make the same mistake twice._

 

 

                “Would you care for some dessert?” Gus asked as he picked up his empty bowl to carry it to the dishwasher. “I have some flan in the refrigerator. Or we could adjourn to the other room, if you are done.” He turned to see Pinkman bend his head over his dinner as if in prayer, his shoulders almost tucked to his ears.

 

                “Um … I don’t need dessert. I’m good.”

 

                Gus walked up behind him and put a hand to rest on Pinkman’s back, making him jump. The boy was a skittish one – he seemed less at ease than when he’d arrived.

 

                “Then let us move into the other room,” Gus ordered casually. He pulled out Pinkman’s chair, watching as the young man stiffly rose to his feet and turned around, still clinging to the front of his robe as if he feared Gus would tear it off of him at any second.

 

                “What,” Pinkman paused to cough in his throat, “what are we gonna do in there?” he asked, his voice still raspy.

 

                “In the living room? I thought we would talk. Have a discussion while our food digests. If you want to go ahead, I will make us some _cortados._ Maybe you can put on some music,” Gus suggested. Pinkman looked beleaguered by the prospect, looking so much younger than his age billowed up to his ears in the white terrycloth of the robe. His eyes were still glassy – dazed as if he’d been wandering around after a car crash - and they'd been like this since he came downstairs. Gus started to worry for a moment that the boy would bolt, yet he felt secure in Pinkman’s desperation to keep Walter safe. Pinkman slowly moved through the doorway into the other room, his steps like a zombie’s, disjointed and meandering.

 

                Gus prepared their coffees, the milk steaming loudly throughout the kitchen as he heard some music begin over the speakers. When he finished, he set the small cups on a tray. Gus recognized the song playing and smiled as he walked into the living room. Pinkman was sitting in the high backed chair again.

 

                “Very nice selection,” he said approvingly as he set the _cortados_ down, a woman’s warm, honeyed voice trailing through the walls. “You have excellent taste.”

 

                “I don’t know any of those names,” Pinkman confessed. “I just picked one. Sweet system, though.” He nodded to the stereo unit where Gus’s iPod rested.

 

                “This is the great Cesária Évora, one of the finest singers of the century. I wish my mother had been alive to listen to her. She would have loved her.” A momentary rise of emotion swept through Gus before he tamped it down, the song wrenching his heart. He saw his mother’s face as she laughed, such a rare treat for him to behold. _Gustavo,_ _tira para arriba._

Pinkman stood up nervously, picking at his nails again. “Hey, uh … you think … would it be okay for me to get some clothes? I mean, what’s the … standard, I guess, going to be? Am I gonna just walk around like … can I put something on?”

 

                He walked over to the boy and put up hands on the sides of his arms to fully capture Pinkman’s wide-eyed attention. “You _are_ wearing something. I want you to be comfortable. But it would seem silly to worry about dressing now when bedtime is so near.”

 

                Pinkman gulped. “Yeah … about that. Do I get … like, my own room while I’m here?”

 

                Gus frowned at him. “You have your own room the other six days of the week, Jesse. You are only here for one night.”

“So, no, then?” he snapped. “I gotta sleep with you, right? Am I actually gonna get to sleep, though? Will I ever get a moment to myself? Are you, like, gonna watch over me while I take a dump, too?” His voice rang through the house as his distress heightened.

 

                Gus shook his head, perplexed by the outburst. “You are upset. Why is this? Surely you were aware of what was expected in that area.”

 

                “Well, duh – yeah, I had a pretty good idea. But you don’t even give a guy some warning. I mean, just dive right in, why don’chya? Moving kind of fast, don’t you think? Jesus.”

 

                For a moment, Gus saw Maximino before him, recalling how he had come to him that first time. In the hotel Gus had brought him to, Max had stepped forward shyly, dropping his towel as he offered himself with graceful avidity. Gus took a long breath and put his palm to Pinkman’s cheek, making the other man flinch.

 

                “I apologize. It was not my intention to … overwhelm you.” He let his finger trail down the side of the boy’s face until it curved to his chin, but Pinkman pulled away in annoyance. “I forget that you are not … that this is new for you. I’ve become accustomed to the pace of men, the way that these things move much faster than with a woman. Men have … a shorthand. We know what we want. With sex, there is no dance to lead up to it, the dance _is_ the act, and we are eager to begin.”

 

                “Wow. Great,” Pinkman drawled. “So, now you’re calling me a woman? Thanks. Thanks a whole bunch.”

                “No,” Gus answered. “Not at all. Come with me.”

 

                Impudence gave way to distrust, bottom teeth clenching in defiance. “Why? Where are we going?”

 

                “I told you before, Jesse – you will do as I say without question, or hesitation.” He held out his hand to the young man. “I want to show you something upstairs.”

 

                Pinkman glared back, scanned Gus’s hand in disgust and then turned to pick up his coffee cup, swigging the short drink down in two gulps. He stepped away from the table to begin his trek up the stairs. Gus followed, his own jaw set tightly. His frustration with Pinkman was starting to surface in ways that were antithetical to his plans and he drew another long breath to allow his irritation to exhale.

 

                When they reached the landing, Pinkman put his hand to the wrought iron railing at first, glancing over his shoulder to view the floor below, eyes darting above to the cathedral ceiling. He then marched to the bedroom, leaning against the door to strike an insouciant pose as Gus strode up.

 

                “I’m guessing you want to _show me_ something in here?” he asked sarcastically.

 

                Gus ignored the tone and waved out his hand. “Please. It is inside the walk-in.”

                Pinkman stared blankly, sighing heavily before moving into the room to shuffle obnoxiously to the double doors. Gus walked around him and peeled the doors back. Guiding him just inside, he had the boy stand before the full length mirror.

 

                Immediately, Pinkman’s gaze was drawn to the end of the closet, his eyes going wide again. Gus put a hand to the side of the boy’s skull and forced his head to face forward to the mirror. Pinkman blinked at him in the glass, then craned his neck to the side again as he stared at the wall, his mouth hanging open. This time, Gus used both hands to wrench the boy's head straight.

 

                “Do not look over there. Look at me,” he said into the mirror, making eye contact with Pinkman in their reflection. Gus held his gaze while his hands moved down to untie the cloth band at Pinkman’s waist, who suddenly grabbed at Gus’s hands, gripping them tight. Gus felt a frisson of fear race through the young man.

 

                “What are you doing,” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

 

                “Please. Remove your hands,” Gus told him firmly, his features set coldly in the glass.

 

                He let Gus untie the robe, open it wide and then slip it over his shoulders to drop to the floor. Instantly, the boy looked away, to the room past the open doors.

 

                “No,” Gus said, steering Pinkman’s head back a third time. “I want you to understand what other men see when they look at you.” He ran his fingers across the tops of Pinkman’s shoulders, staring longingly at the spatter of freckles that decorated his skin. Gus felt a fist tighten inside him, the surge of desire knotting him up as he imagined licking that delicate sprinkling. The skull head on Pinkman’s back seemed to mock him this fancy with its garish grin, and he halted the sudden need to grab the boy and push him against the wall, to take him where they stood.

                “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Pinkman demanded. “Ain’t no dude looking at me like this but you,” he quipped.

 

                “This is not true. Men size you up very quickly, decide how they are going to treat you based on one look. See these legs? The slender hips? You are too skinny. _Como un palillo._ It is not enough to have strength inside of your soul, there must be strength present in your body. To show men you do not fear them, that you are a threat.”

 

                “What the fuck kind of jock-spewing alpha male shit is that?” Pinkman decried. “I’m not into that crap, man. You know, I do just fine. I don’t need to pump iron to look like some ‘roided out freak.”

 

                “I’m not suggesting such a thing. You have an attractive, lean body. I am not criticizing it, Jesse. But in this business, you have to project that strength, and some extra weight shows that you know how to fight. That you belong in their world. Otherwise, they will rip you to pieces.”

 

                Pinkman looked offended. “I seem to recall doing okay with those chemists in Mexico.”

     “Yes, you did, but attitude is only a part of it. What they see now -” he slid his hand around Pinkman’s hip, who dramatically rolled his eyes at the touch. “They see a boy. A boy they can use … however they wish.” He ran his hand to the young man’s stomach, circling the pad of his finger around the bellybutton as he wrapped an arm across Pinkman’s chest. “I am merely recommending a little heft to your physique, to give you some definition” he muttered into Pinkman’s ear, and Gus delighted in watching him swallow thickly, felt him start to tremble under his touch.

 

                “Like, what, are you gonna be my trainer, now?” he asked snidely, trying to mask his nervousness under his bluster.

 

                “What do you do when you get home, Jesse?” Gus asked as he stepped away from the boy, lazily taking his hands off of him. Pinkman made a face.

 

                “I don’t know. Stuff. Watch tv, or whatever.” A shoulder jerked up. “Sometimes I go play some b-ball with my boys.”

 

                Gus raised a single eyebrow. He knew from Tyrus’ reports that Pinkman rarely left his house once he was home, a veritable recluse. There had been a visit to the girlfriend with Goodman, and general shopping excursions, but that was the extent of his outings.

 

                “And when you have … urges to take drugs – how do you avoid this? If you are at home sitting around with nothing to occupy your mind but drivel, how can you fight against these needs?”

 

                Pinkman stared at him in the glass, a hint of recognition in his face before he glanced down to the floor, his skin reddening. “I got steps,” he muttered feebly.

 

                “Are you still attending your meetings?” he inquired.

 

                The boy looked up sharply. “You having me followed?”

 

                Gus sighed. “I like to know what my employees are up to. Especially the important ones. It affects my business, when you are not at your best, Jesse. I want you at your best.”

                There was a spark in blue eyes as they glistened from the war within. He could see Pinkman feed off the praise whenever it came his way, but that natural aversion to authority would spring up in his frame a moment later. He needed to strike a balance with the boy, give him equal parts stroking and spanking, in order to produce the desired results. Gus roved his eyes over Pinkman’s back again, appreciating the delicate planes of his spine and shoulders, the swoop above his rear end. There was a softness to him that Gus enjoyed, but he wouldn’t allow himself to get too used to it. It was the first thing that needed to change. He bent down to pick up the robe, sliding it over Pinkman so that he could fit it back on.

 

                “You seem tired,” Gus said, tying the robe closed. “Perhaps it would be wise for you to get an early night. As I said, we have a lot to do tomorrow.”

 

                Pinkman said nothing, but darted another glance to the wall at the end of the closet, a tongue escaping nervously to lick his lips. Gus turned him away, leading him out of the closet and out of the room until they were back on the landing overlooking the living room. He pressed Pinkman’s shoulders and made him continue walking past the railing until it came to the wall, near an adjoining door. He opened it and ushered Pinkman into the spare bedroom across from his.

 

                “I will let you sleep here for tonight,” he told him, watching the relief flood the young man’s face instantly. “Let you get adjusted to … everything. Will this be acceptable to you?”

 

                Pinkman nodded vigorously in his gratitude. “Yeah. Uh, thanks, that’ll be … that’ll be good.”

              Gus pointed to another door. “The bathroom is right there. I have some extra toiletries I can put aside for you. A toothbrush, some facial cleanser. You can clean up whenever you like. I have some reading to go through for work, so … unless there is something else you need, I will leave you now.”

 

                “Um, can I go outside for a smoke? I don’t know what you did with my clothes. I need to get my cigarettes.”

 

                Gus nodded to him and went to retrieve the boy’s clothes from the back of his bathroom door. He brought them to the room and laid them on the bed. Pinkman immediately dived for the pockets, fumbling to bring out the pack. He moved past Gus to make his way down the stairs, almost running to the glass door to let himself out on the deck.

 

 

******

 

                Gus awoke, his eyes opening to the darkness of his room as if he’d only just blinked. His restlessness ate at him, a hunger that had nothing to do with his belly and everything to do with his mind. Bodies and faces from his dream faded away, but the smells remained, the stench of the rooms always present as his memory coasted back to those days. Gus felt the press of flesh against him, the smell of the men trail into his nose, recalling the round-ups in _la venda sexy_ – after Manuel had sent him to the Discothèque for months as a ‘reward’. He knew that it had been meant as a slap to his father – Manuel would stay forever jealous of him – and a young Gustavo had felt like an accomplice to further Alejandro’s disappointment in his son.

                He saw his father as he had been on the day they had brought Gus back from the school, temporarily expelled for the _situation_ that had been discovered between him and another cadet. The disgust in Alejandro’s expression had only made Gustavo stand taller. _Colizón_ , he’d shouted. _Negro puto_ , the other boys had sneered, sometimes with low whistles. But then the coup had happened, when Gus was nineteen. He and Mateo had been introduced to the Lieutenant Colonel and his world had changed overnight. Gus remembered the teeming hordes at Estadio Chile, the stadium turned into a giant detention center as people screamed and begged while they were beaten in full view. Many of the captured left in the cover of night, in body bags. This was where Gus’s real education had begun.

 

                The disco had been real at one time. But then it was turned into another place for interrogations. With every new building that was obtained, however, there seemed to be a specific use for each location. This one had been intended for the special cases. Many of the officers would pick out the pretty girls to be sent there, or the pretty boys, and come back later to _question_ them personally. The men that were assigned at the Discothèque boasted of their conquests, leaving marks to represent them on their guns – it was a coveted post. The day they had brought in one of the great poets of the country – one of Allende’s favorites – for writing a piece against the new government, there had been a collection of police arrive for the event, many of them eager to take their turn with him, shout lewd names at him, ridicule him as he was raped for not being a true man. It had broken Gustavo’s heart to see this writer that he’d admired being degraded and fouled upon, but then, the man had been a dissident. He had brought it upon himself. Gus understood this, made himself participate. And when he was done, he had gone home and pulled the slim volumes of the poet’s works from under his socks in his dresser drawer and tossed them into the fireplace.

Gus rolled to his side and thought about his guest in the next room. He had promised the boy some space but he couldn’t stop dreaming of sweaty, roiling bodies, of men being pinned down as they screamed. He saw himself bring down the baton on a prisoner’s head, the man going quiet, and Gus rolled on his back again, trying to change the images in his head to something better. He culled through memories of Maximino: of him laughing during dinner, his intense concentration in the lab, or when he’d been studying for school. He thought of Max lying next to him in their bed, the way he would climb on him, drag Gus’s hands across his chest and sweep them down to his cock. How he would request Gus beat him when he saw the restlessness in Gus’s eyes. Gus let out a gasping sigh, sat up in his bed with a dangerous need in his body. He listened to the sounds of the house, tried to determine if he could hear the boy breathing from between two closed doors and a hallway. Folding his hands in his lap, he shut his eyes and saw Pinkman’s freckles under his fingers, had a vision of the close-up of his cock as Gus had devoured him.

 

                Gus felt the untapped energy race around him like a pinball, his hands squeezing together tightly as he glanced at his bedroom door. He pulled back his covers and got out of bed.

 

                When he stepped into Pinkman’s room, the sound of slow breaths greeted him. He left the door ajar, moving silently to the window. After laying the items in his hand onto the nightstand, he tied back the drapes. The blinds were eerily lit through the crevices. Gus eased the pulleys cord so that as the blinds were raised upward moonlight filled the room, a bright white beam falling across Pinkman’s back. Gus sucked in his breath at the sight. He stole over to the other side of the bed and gently tugged the sheets down, staring eagerly at the young man’s body as he contemplated whether he was moving too soon. While Gus could recognize the need for some restraint with his young cook, he refused to indulge him the way he had with Max. It would do him no favors in the long term. Pinkman was here for Gus’s benefit, and Gus wanted him in this moment, couldn’t wait any longer. He took off his glasses before getting into bed behind Pinkman, sliding himself close enough to press against flesh. The boy's skin touching his incited Gus, made him grow hard, and he pushed nearer to nestle his cock against the boy’s ass with a nervous thrill running through him.

 

                The boy jerked back, made scratchy noises in his throat. “What,” he mumbled sleepily. Gus put his hand on Pinkman’s stomach and stroked down to his cock, pulling him back so that the other could feel what was in store for him. Pinkman woke up in a hurry and twisted his head to look over his shoulder. “Shit,” he hissed, dropping his face down into his pillow. “I thought you were gonna leave me alone for the night,” he rumbled accusingly.

“I changed my mind,” Gus answered simply, pressing Pinkman to his back. He quickly got on top of him, his erection poking the boy’s balls. Leaning down to kiss him, Gus kept the young man’s head still with the squeeze of his hands and forced Pinkman’s mouth open with his tongue. He liked the way the boy tasted of nicotine, the smoky, acrid tang of his cigarettes reminding Gus of his youth, of the days spent smoking and watching, watching and smoking as each prisoner cried and pleaded, insisting on their innocence.

 

                He was breathing heavy already as he made his way down Pinkman’s chest, bit at one of his nipples and tugged sharply. The boy hissed again, arching upward, and his hand shot to Gus’s shoulder to push against it. Gus moved down lower, letting his tongue navigate Pinkman’s belly, a tickle on his lips as his mouth brushed over the young man’s trail of hair leading below. He followed it down, eagerly dipped his head to consume the organ that was growing stiffer with each second. Gus tongued the boy, nibbling and sucking on the head as he waited for the rest of it to harden, then filling his mouth once the cock grew erect. Listening to Pinkman’s grunts and groans only goaded him to suck with more enthusiasm, swallowing around the head to hear Pinkman shout in surprise. He wanted to suck these _peras_ till the boy screamed, wanted to tongue-fuck him again until Pinkman begged to be taken. But he hungered to be inside him, ready to feel Pinkman sheathed around his own cock.

 

                Gus climbed upon his young _pollo_ , his hands pressing open the boy’s thighs.

 

                “Wait, _wait_!” Pinkman cried. “Just hold on a minute, fuck!”

_“_ _No,”_ Gus commanded. “You are here for _me._ _”_ Gus held Pinkman's legs back, pressing on the thick padding of thighs just under each buttock as he bent down to get his prize ready.

 

                “Dude, what about a fucking condom? I mean, Jesus, can you give me a little prep, here?” Pinkman insisted, his voice ragged with a rising hysteria.

 

                Gus sat up against his heels, and took a few deep breaths to calm down. He looked at the boy’s face, seeing the fear there, and cleared his throat, disturbed by the way he had been overtaken so quickly by his desire. Gus was here to teach his student how to control his emotions, and already he was allowing lustful thoughts to lead him, showing no regard for the young man’s comfort. He reached for the tubes and packet on the bedside table and attempted to soothe Pinkman’s frazzled nerves, coaxing him to drop his legs open as he stroked the inside of his thighs.

                “We will take this slower. I am not interested in causing you pain tonight. But you must calm yourself,” he said, speaking more to himself. He ran a hand over Pinkman’s belly again, his fingers trailing down to testicles as the boy breathed in sharply. It had been a while since he had needed to seduce someone in bed. He was torn between wanting to show patience and care but also desperate to instill an understanding in Pinkman that left no room for tenderness.

 

                The boy twitched and jerked as Gus took his time. He tucked Pinkman’s hands under his legs, instructing him to hold them open, knees up high.

 

                “Jesus, I look like a fucking idiot,” he complained. “How is this even sexy?”

 

                Gus smirked at the question but kept working, enjoying the little gasps and fidgets of his young partner, watching in fascination as Pinkman’s head twisted back and forth frantically. The straight boys made such a fuss about sex. He filled him with his fingers first, relishing the cries and moans it elicited from Pinkman, bending down again to lick at his chest, drawing a line with the tip of his tongue down to the end of Pinkman’s cock. He swallowed around him again, started stuffing his fingers deeper and rougher into the boy while he made more delicious sounds. When he could no longer stand it, he hooked an ankle over his shoulder and watched as his covered cock disappeared into Pinkman, listening to to the boy ramble incoherently as he was stretched wider while Gus moved as slow as he could manage.

_“_ Fuck _,_ _jesus_ _…_ oh god. What … what the fuck _,_ ohmy _god_ _,”_ he intoned, a mix of raspy whispers and rising notes _._

_“_ _Relax._ Stop tensing up and you will be fine. Look at me,” Gus said, holding Pinkman’s gaze in the moonlight as he pushed lightly. The boy gasped again. Pinkman’s head kept tipping back with every thrust that went deeper than the last, but his eyes stayed glued to Gus’s face as their bodies rocked together. Gus eventually grabbed Pinkman’s other foot and brought it to rest by his neck, shifting his weight lower so that he could reach down to kiss him. Pinkman's body was doubled over with his legs in the air and was struggling to breathe. He attacked the boy’s mouth again as his hand scrabbled down between them to slide fingers over the rigid cock flat against Pinkman’s belly. He twisted his hips and rode deeper. “Oh, fuck,” Pinkman groaned once more.

 

                Once he was fully inside Pinkman’s ass, Gus began to slow his breathing, going still as he kept his weight on the boy, the pressure insistent as he felt the squeeze around his cock like a tiny pulse. He began to stroke the steel in his hand, silky and hot, gripping it as if it were his own. Pinkman had gone quiet as the strokes had increased, the thrusting still moving at a glacial pace, but being met as Pinkman raised his hips. “Say it again,” he said suddenly.

 

                “Wh-what?” Pinkman asked dazedly.

 

                Gus ceased his movements, taking his hand off of Pinkman and staring back into that face, pinning him with his eyes the way he had him pinned by his cock.

 

                “Would you like me to stop?”

 

                “What are you talking about?” he whined.

 

                Gus started to slide out partway, held his body above Pinkman with his hands planted to the bed. “Should I discontinue? Leave you alone?”

 

                “Dude, seriously? You’re not gonna finish?”

“It is up to you, Jesse. What would you like me to do?” He leaned down again, pushing his face closer to the boy.

 

                Pinkman turned away, staring towards the window. “Just fucking do it already,” he muttered so quietly Gus could barely hear him.

 

                “I beg your pardon? Do what, Jesse? Tell me. Look at me and say what it is you want.”

 

                Pinkman rolled his head back, glared at Gus with eyes shining diamond-like under the moon, his mouth twisted into a deadly grimace. “Jack me off while you fuck me. Is that what you want to hear?” He looked away again. “Christ, and do it quick, I’m getting a cramp in my legs.”

Gus had a sudden worrisome image that gave him pause, of a hooded Walter in the desert. He held Pinkman where he was for another minute as he questioned him.

 

                “You have not spoken to Walter since the other night?”

 

                “What?” The boy sounded bewildered.

 

                “Walter. You will not speak to him. Is this understood?”

 

                “I haven’t – what the fuck, dude? I won’t talk _–_ _Gawwd!”_

                Gus had pushed himself entirely into Pinkman, his balls flush with skin and muscle before he started to slap against him, his thrusts moving double time, no longer concerned with being slow and careful. Pinkman cried out and Gus shifted his weight, took Pinkman in hand again and resumed his sped up strokes. The boy’s moans had thankfully returned, open mouthed and long-snaked, and Gus slammed into him harder to hear them climb into shouts and guttural cries. That Pinkman was so vocal only served to spike Gus’s desire, but when he started to chant a series of _fucks_ , each one louder than the last, Gus pulled out of him, scooted his body down quickly as he gobbled up Pinkman’s cock and started to suck him furiously, one hand gripped tightly around the boy’s _huevos_ , the other fucking him with doubled up fingers.

_“_ Holy _shhhhit_ _,_ oh my god _,_ oh _My GOD!”_ Gus felt the warm reward fill his mouth, let it sit in its state for a moment before he swallowed, savoring Pinkman’s taste. He licked the boy clean, then got on his knees and grabbed the body under him by the hips, flipping Pinkman quickly onto his stomach.

 

                “Hey, what are you doi—”

 

                Gus slapped the small, round ass in front of him, made the boy get up on his knees and spread his thighs again.

_“_ _I will fuck you,”_ he hissed, directing his cock to the swollen hole before him, pushing in eagerly as Pinkman complained with a shout. “ _I will_ ,” Gus repeated, starting to fuck him at a rapid clip while holding on to bony hips with a steel grip. Pinkman was trying to keep himself up, but his arms would buckle, his head falling to the bed, and he’d attempt to lift himself up again while Gus drove into him relentlessly, an orgasm rising in his center, trailing through his back like lightning strikes across a black sky.

 

                “ _Yes_ , yes! Tell me,” he yelled. There was no reply, and Gus smacked at the ass underneath him.

 

                “Jesus, alright! Fuck me, okay?”

 

                “Again!” Gus demanded, his pistoning thrusts hard enough to make the bed shake violently.

 

                “Fu-uck me-e-e,” Pinkman repeated, his voice a vibrato as he was tossed back and forth.

 

                Gus bent to press himself against Pinkman’s back, curled arms underneath him and brought them up to hold on to Pinkman’s shoulders while sinking his forehead behind the boy’s neck. He shortened his movements, just concentrated bursts into the boy as his climax hovered nearby. He used his knee to kick Pinkman’s leg open wider then fucked him faster, his scrotum flattened and squished as he pushed as deep as bone would allow.

 

                He came before he even realized it, the delay catching up to him as he heard Pinkman’s extended grunts. His heart felt like it might explode at any second but he was sated and happy, feeling like he’d just climbed a mountain, had decimated the cartel all over again. He dropped his full weight on Pinkman to the boy’s dismay, letting his heart rate return to normal as he panted on top of the trembling body beneath him.

 

                It was quiet for a few moments until Pinkman tried to move.

 

                “You think you can get your dick out of my ass, please,” Gus heard him mumble into his pillow.

 

                Gus stayed where he was, letting the beats in his cock lull him back to a calm center. “What did you say? I did not understand.”

 

                Pinkman turned his head to the side with difficulty, still flattened to the bed. “Your dick. Do you think you could possibly remove it from my ass? That would be, like, so great.”

 

                Gus wanted to stay. Wished he could spend the next several minutes swallowing the issue of his orgasm out of Pinkman’s hole, but it had all been captured in latex and it appeared the boy was done for the night. Gus didn’t think it would be wise to push it. He wouldn’t be able to begin his true wishes until the following week, when Pinkman was a little more broken in. Then his program would properly get underway.

 

                He pulled out of Pinkman, making it as agonizingly slow as he could muster, then got up to roll off of him, his heart still thudding wildly. Instantly, the young man slid to the edge of the bed, folding into himself, his request clear. Gus pulled off the spent rubber and stood up, put on his glasses and strode out of the room, the moon casting its rays to the doorway to guide him. Once he was back in his own bed, he lay awake and stared at the ceiling, eager for the morning to arrive. Several minutes later, he heard the other door open, then footsteps pad down the hall to the bathroom, saw the light come on under his door. The sound of a shower filled the house. Gus rolled to his side and went back to sleep.

_******* _

                When he walked into Pinkman’s room the next morning, already dressed for his morning jog, he brought another track suit in his hands and laid it on the bed. He jostled the boy’s shoulder to awaken him.

 

                “Jesse. It is time to get up.” He shoved him again. “Pinkman,” he boomed. _“_ _¡Despiértate!”_ Gus smacked the boy’s bottom and watched him leap up in alarm.

 

                “Ow!! Fucking what, asshole? Why you gotta be such a dick all the time?!”

 

                Gus grinned in amusement at the disgruntled greeting, wondering if Pinkman would be this charming all day. “Good morning to you as well. Now, get up.” He slapped his hands together. “ _Andale!”_

 

                Pinkman peered at the clock by the bed, eyes half-shut. “Dude – it’s five thirty in the fucking morning. It ain’t even light out. What the hell, yo?”

 

                “It is time to get in shape. I start the day with a run on the weekends. You are going to join me.”

 

                Pinkman gaped at him for a full minute, his expression confounded. “Are you serious?”

 

                “I am always serious.”

 

                The boy shook his head angrily, turned to punch his pillow and drop back down in a prone position. “No fucking way,” he decreed sullenly. “Fuck off.”

 

                “You will get up – _now.”_ Gus’s amusement was quickly replaced with a cold rage. He would not put up with Pinkman’s poor attitude in the remaining day that was left.

 

                Raising the top half of his body, Pinkman slammed a hand to the bed with a reckless fury. “No! Jesus, are you for real? I ain’t going on no run! I can’t even sit down, on account of you tearing up my ass. How the fuck am I even supposed to walk? Just leave me the fuck alone.” He threw himself back on the mattress, his face turned to the other wall.

 

                Gus grabbed a corner of the sheets and ripped them off the bed with a loud _whoosh_ , startling Pinkman as his body was bared. With frightening speed, he took hold of Pinkman’s ankle and dragged the boy across the bed, kept pulling until he bucked and twisted and then fell to the floor with a bang. Gus didn’t take time for a breath as he dropped to the ground, pinning Pinkman underneath him with an arm pressed behind the boy's neck. Pinkman howled and roared, but Gus bent low to his ear and hissed his warning.

 

                “You do not speak like this _ever_ to my face. I _own you_ while you are here. Enough of your complaints! Or I will throw you back on that bed and I _will_ rip open that _culo._ And this time, there will be nothing to get you ready. I will take you dry as bone until your blood flows down your legs. Do you understand me?”

 

                Pinkman had gone quiet, nodded his head strenuously until Gus got off of him. He stood up and stepped over Pinkman, brushed his hands down his front to flatten straight the polyester mesh of his shirt, tucking the hem back in his track pants. Gus strode to the doorway, stopping to look down at the boy unmoving on the floor.

 

                “Get dressed. I will meet you downstairs.”

 

                He closed the door behind him and lightly jogged down the stairs, starting to whistle along the way.

 

 

 

 


	8. The Taste

 

 

_If you have a complaint, I suggest you submit it through our email system. I’d be happy to refer you to our website._

               

                The sky had begun its blush through the fibers of the cirrus clouds spanning the city as Gus stepped outside, light seeping from behind the black ridge of the Sandia mountains. He pulled his leg up like a stork and pressed his hands together, took a deep breath and then lunged forward on the grass, holding a pose while the stretch burned through his thighs and up his back. He held his hands high over his head then eased into the first phase of the Warrior stance, breathing slowly as he listened to the far-off traffic and the cacophonous chatter of birds tucked away in dark trees. Gus brought his arms down, extending them to either side while he stretched out his back leg. He let his aggravation from a moment ago become as wispy as the clouds overhead and then exhaled it into the gathering wind.

 

                “What the hell are you doing?” a surly voice asked behind him.

 

                “I am preparing for my run. You need to loosen your muscles if you want to avoid injury,” he explained, eyes closed as he held the pose.

 

                “I know how to stretch before a run, okay? I was on the track team for a few years. We never did anything gay like that, though.”

 

                Gus turned around and smiled flatly. “Why did you stop?” he asked.

 

                Pinkman looked off to the distance, shrugged as he dragged a hand across his face. “I don’t know. It was my dad’s idea to start, but … the coach was an asshole. Jocks are assholes. I preferred smoking a bowl in the back lot of the school with my boys. Way more chill.”

 

                Gus stood up straight, breathed tightly through his nose as his distaste for Pinkman’s vices swelled. He abhorred any and all reliance on drugs, regardless of their reputations. For Gus, they had always been a means for cash, a product to be manufactured, shipped and traded. Their value was strictly monetary, meant for building empires. He had seen cocaine sustain a government, fund weapons for soldiers of warring countries, helped its sales fill the pockets of countless officials, then watched helplessly as it ruined his brother. He would rather be set on fire than let any drug into his lungs or up his nose. He pulled a leg up behind him and held the ankle in place while he ticked off the seconds in his head.

 

                There was the low hiss of Pinkman swearing at something. Gus turned to see over his shoulder the young man bending at the waist, trying to hold his shins with feet spread on the grass. He tilted his face up to the sky, his misery plain in his features, and before Gus even had a chance to comment on his obvious lack of exercise Pinkman took off, sprinting ahead to the sidewalk and barreling into the road. Instantly annoyed at being left, Gus shot after him.

 

                It took a few minutes to catch up – Pinkman was quite fast. But as their moving bodies were aligned, the boy began to slow down. Gus could hear his wheezing as he attempted to pump his arms higher. Pretty soon he was lagging behind Gus, his running steps getting louder and sloppier on the asphalt. Still jogging, Gus looked behind him to see Pinkman bent over, his hands grasping his knees.

 

                “Keep up,” he commanded, turning back to the road ahead then cutting over to the sidewalk again. Eventually, he heard Pinkman coming up behind him, but he kept his sight straight ahead, the two of them silent as they rounded the block. At certain intervals, Pinkman would stop to keel over in hoarse breaths, but he would always make it back to Gus, and by the time they had finished the second mile, Pinkman was running in step with him.

 

                When they arrived back at the house, having circled the entire neighborhood, Pinkman dropped to the grass, lying on his back with an arm over his face as his panting and wheezes railed through his slight frame. Gus slowed to a stop and then walked the circumference of the yard to cool down his muscles. He was bemused by how completely out of shape the boy was and yet there was a strong enough current of resilience underneath his laziness to suggest that Pinkman was up for a challenge.

 

                Once Gus was done, he strode over to the spot where Pinkman lay and held out a hand to help him up, his thoughts already on the reaction to the next activity, but Pinkman stared at the hand as if he were being offered a gallon of shit, refusing the gesture as he rolled over to push himself off the ground. It was a childish move, but it bothered Gus all the same. Pinkman walked up to the door first, waited with his back against the wall by the doorbell as he cast his gaze over the neighbor’s houses.

 

                “Do you feel ready for more?” Gus asked him, unlocking the door.

 

                “More what?” responded Pinkman in his deep, husky voice, a trait that secretly aroused Gus.

 

                “We’ve only just begun,” he answered coyly, opening the door wide to let Pinkman in.

 

                In a move that Gus was quickly becoming familiar with, Pinkman made an exasperated face with a roll of his eyes. “ _Great_ ,” he muttered as he went inside.

 

                In the kitchen, Gus pulled open the refrigerator and took out two water bottles, tossing one to the boy and then uncapping his own. He watched Pinkman tip his head back and guzzle half of the bottle down noisily, admiring the streak of intensity that ran through the young man. He hoped to capture that thread of passion that Pinkman often exhibited, particularly when he was angry. There were times, Gus would stop his work at his desk and simply watch the interactions between Walter and the boy; one gesticulating emphatically as the other stood stiffly in disbelief or paternal judgment. Even with audio connected from the lab, often the machines were too loud, the echoes in the chamber overwhelming any nearby speakers, and he would hear little of their conversation, wondering with piqued interest what they were arguing about. He found it amusing when Walter would point to the ceiling during one of their more heated interludes; of course Walter would expect they were being recorded. The man’s sense of self-importance was incredible.

 

                “Can I take a shower before we start?” Pinkman asked nervously. “I’m kinda freeballin’ here. FYI, not really comfortable having your junk flap around when you’re running – maybe next time I could get a jockstrap or something? If that’s okay?”

 

                “I will bring you more appropriate wear for the next run.” Gus took hold of his elbow and steered him in the other direction, out of the kitchen and through the hall, leading Pinkman to the stairwell into the basement as he talked. “I forgot you only had boxers. You should wear something more … form-fitting. All of this cotton sticking out,” – he tugged at the thick, doubled waistband under the track pants, where the boxers peeked through – “It is not very flattering. As for the shower, you will want to do this after.”

 

                The boy looked as if he had something to say but remained quiet, staring dully ahead to where the stairs descended. When they reached the top, Gus held out a hand and let Pinkman go first, catching the flicker of fear back in his face. They reached the bottom and Gus opened the door below, revealing his private gym. Several weight machines lined the wall, a treadmill amongst them, and a row of dumbbells squatted next to a bench. The entire back wall was a mirror – at least a half dozen glass panes he’d had installed, from top to bottom and all the way across. There was also an H-frame in the corner, the bar across the two beams erected up high for Gus to do pull-ups. He pointed to it as he spoke.

 

                “I think we should begin with this. Work up your arms, to start. You have a lot of power in your legs. I have a good machine for that, to give you more strength. You should run more often. It is a very good way to clear your head in the morning, to help you think better.”

 

                “Whatever, man. Let’s just do this already.” Pinkman dragged his feet on the carpet as he shuffled to the beam, but when he stood underneath it he suddenly launched himself into the air to grab for the bar. He started the pull-ups immediately, in fast, easy strides.

 

                “Wait, turn this way. Look out towards me,” Gus instructed, wanting to see the boy flushed and determined. Pinkman stopped, hung by his arms for a moment before dropping one hand, swinging his body around and then clutching the bar in the other direction. He let go with his left hand and did the same thing, facing Gus with arms bent the other way so he could pull his body up. It was a nice change to see the boy so nimble, and intent on something outside of meth production. Gus understood that the work itself was quite strenuous, had noted how the two men had very physical demands in their daily routine. Pinkman was not as weak as he looked, which was a pleasant surprise, but he still had a ways to go. The boy had little stamina, and had barely managed a dozen pull-ups before he was taking a break, his breathing labored as he hung suspended from the bar.

 

                “You should do at least a hundred,” Gus said, turning to the machine behind him and easing into its cradled center. He started to press down on the weights under his feet, watching Pinkman struggle to raise himself for another series. The young man took a deep breath then pulled himself up on the exhale, getting back into his rhythm shortly after. Gus counted in his head as he observed, thinking back to the way that body had felt underneath him the night before. The wildness in Pinkman had a strong effect on Gus, made him remember his most memorable prisoners. He didn’t want to remove it, didn’t even want to tamp it down that much, but instead thought about the many ways he could channel it into something advantageous to them both.

 

                They spent the next hour working on different sets, Gus sending Pinkman to do free weights in front of the mirror. He stopped him after a few minutes – pulled Pinkman’s shirt up over his head to throw it in the corner and then had the boy continue as Gus lectured the benefits, touching areas of the boy’s chest and arms that he wanted Pinkman to concentrate on. Pinkman resumed grudgingly, his chagrin alight in his posture, but said not a word, and soon the only sounds in the room were the clinks of weights coming down and Gus’ voice as he instructed the boy intermittently.

 

                Once Gus felt they’d done enough, he clapped his hands together as he strode to where Pinkman lay, having graduated to bench pressing the weights. “That was good. Well done. We can hit the showers now and then I will make us breakfast.”

 

                Pinkman struggled to set the bar back on its rack and Gus hustled over to spot him. The boy sat up wearily, but he no longer looked annoyed. “Yeah, that wasn’t bad,” he offered hesitantly. “I feel … better.”

 

                “I should show you how to box,” Gus added, pointing to the heavy punching bag in the opposite corner. “It is a good way to release your aggression.”

 

                “I could totally use some of that,” Pinkman commented drily, staring off into space. He got up to head for the upstairs.

 

                “Where are you going? I have a shower down here,” Gus said. He took the boy by the wrist and turned him around, where another door was hidden partially by the largest weight machine. “This way.”

 

                It was only a half bathroom – just a toilet and shower stall, not even a tub – and a mirrored cabinet on the wall. Gus pulled open the opaque glass door by its towel bar and turned the water on. When he looked back to Pinkman, the boy’s expression was wary, his mouth pinched. “After you,” Gus said, waving his hand to the inside. He pulled up his mesh shirt and took it off, stepping over to the laundry basket and lifting its lid to drop his sweaty clothes inside. He peeled off his socks, began to slide off his pants.

 

                “Um … what … who’s going first?” Pinkman inquired with the terror back in his eyes.

 

                “We go together,” Gus answered, putting the last of his clothes in the basket. Standing naked, he extended his hand, motioned fingers towards him in a request for the boy’s pants. “Come. Before the water gets cold.”

 

                He let the boy get under the spray first then entered behind him, putting his hands to Pinkman’s shoulders to move him forward. The boy jerked once, his body stiffening, but then he put his face into the water and tipped his head down. Gus tried to share the shower’s stream, injected his body sideways to get fully wet. It was a cramped space, nothing like the size of the baths upstairs, and Gus grabbed hold of the bar of soap with the washcloth and rubbed them together, immediately turning to lather Pinkman down. The boy froze where he stood, but he didn’t object, staying silent as Gus worked him over, both hands pressed to the tile. Gus rubbed the cloth over Pinkman’s neck on his way to the boy’s back. It looked odd without a strand of gold around it. Growing up in Chile, everyone wore gold around their necks, even if it was a lone necklace to hold the cross. He had bought jewelry for Max on every occasion, covering him in thick rings and gold chains for the outside world to see, the studs and hoops underneath meant only for him. Pinkman’s bare neck set Gus off to daydreaming again, thinking of the trinkets in his room upstairs. That led him to thoughts of after breakfast, what he had planned, and the images it summoned lit his arousal. But Gus pushed it away, not willing to upset Pinkman just yet. The boy seemed to settle down as each subsequent moment it became apparent that they were only there to bathe. Gus would have plenty of time with the boy later, he did not need to rush things the way he had done at night.

 

                When he cut the water off, he pushed open the door, pulled the towel from the bar on the other side and used it to dry Pinkman’s back and torso, eventually wrapping it around the boy’s lower half and tying it off at his hip. He pressed the boy’s back to move him out of the stall then stepped out behind him.

 

                “Uh, don’t you want to dry off?” Pinkman asked, his hand on the towel’s knot.

 

                “I always air dry,” Gus answered, shaking off the excess beads of water then striding out of the bathroom nude. He made his way upstairs, listening to Pinkman follow him back to the kitchen’s entrance. He turned around to face him. “Have a seat at the table. I will be down in a moment. Oh, and help yourself to whatever is in the fridge. I will get breakfast started shortly.”

 

                Pinkman sighed deeply, turned to look away from Gus as he spoke. “Look, you don’t gotta go to the trouble. I’m good with a bowl of Fruit Loops. You got any of those?”

 

                But Gus shook his head disparagingly at the thought. “This is not a proper meal,” he explained. “I will cook you something delicious. You can help me prep the vegetables.” He pointed to the refrigerator. “Grab some peppers and an onion. There is a tomato in the crisper, as well. We will eat like grown men here.”

 

                He left the kitchen with Pinkman still standing in place gawking back at him, but the boy would figure it out. Gus went up to his room and into his closet to get himself dressed. He went to the back wall, stroked at his chin as he glanced over the array. Pulling out the drawer to his left, he went through the many leather bands collected there looking for the ideal sizes. There was a trolley he kept rolled under his suits, with two metal shelves. He started to fill the top of the cart with supplies, looping several of the chains he’d used the day before and adding them to the pile. Once he’d finished picking through his stash, he pushed the cart closer to the door, satisfied with the selection.

 

                Back in the kitchen, he set Pinkman to work at the chopping board while he pulled out pans and more ingredients. He was pouring oil into one when he caught the boy out of the corner of his eye cutting awkwardly at a mangled piece of pepper. Gus stopped and came over behind him, putting arms on either side of Pinkman as he moved his hands over the boy’s.

 

                “No, you must hold the knife like this. Cut the pepper in half first, so you can lay it flat. Then keep your force in this direction. Put your finger here, on the back of the blade, and it will be steadier.”

 

                Pinkman had stilled as soon as Gus touched him, and once Gus let him take back control of the knife, the boy stayed motionless for a few moments, his grip shaky on the handle. Yet, when he began cutting again, he did it exactly as Gus suggested.

 

                “Very good,” Gus complimented with a smile. He inhaled discreetly over Pinkman’s shoulder, liking the clean smell of him. The space above his neck looked soft with the downy cover of his buzzed hair and Gus had to rein his desire in again, had to step away from the boy and go back to the stove, kept his mind on after breakfast.

 

                When the meal was ready, they sat down to eat, Pinkman still in his towel, diffident and quiet.

 

                “What do you think? Better than Fruit Loops?” Gus teased with an arch of his brow.

 

                He shrugged. “They’re both good.”

 

                “A man should know how to cook,” Gus said. “Especially if you want to impress a woman. They like men with fine taste and a broad palate.”

 

                Pinkman shot a doubtful glance to Gus then returned to staring down at his plate. “I cook,” he countered softly. “I’ve made breakfast for my girl and her kid before.”

 

                “What did you make for them?”

 

                He looked up again with a wry expression. “Bacon and eggs,” he replied with a droll rise of his eyebrows.

 

                “Ah,” Gus said, “a classic. Perhaps you can prepare this dish for her next time.”

 

                “What do you know about impressing a woman, anyway?” Pinkman asked abruptly. “If you like dick so much, why’d you even bother getting married?”

 

                Gus paused his fork on its way to his mouth, surprised momentarily by the question. He decided not to take offense at Pinkman’s tactless approach, but to answer honestly. “It is different in my country. For Latin men in general, particularly back then. To be respected as a man, you were expected to have a wife and children. There was no … other choice for me at the time. But Pilar – she was good for me for a while.” He took another bite of his food, pondering on the matter some more. “In my culture, the men are allowed to have as many mistresses as they like, but always you must come back to the family at the end of the day. To leave them is to lose face, to commit the worst sin.”

 

                “So, what? Was she, like, your beard? Did she know about the other guy?”

 

                “She knew about Max, yes.”

 

                Pinkman had stopped eating, had folded his arms on the table as he studied Gus. “And she was cool with it? Was this before or after the kids?” he asked with a reproachful tone.

 

                Gus had an instant recollection of Pilar as a girl, living next door to them in the house he and Mateo had been brought to after their mother had died. Gus had been terrified, the hateful looks from his half-sisters and Alejandro’s wife a daily reminder that he didn’t belong there, that he would never fit in with his father’s white family. Pilar had been curious about him from the time they first met, in her backyard when he’d ran after a ball that Mateo had kicked too far. Her curiosity had continued for most of their relationship, but it eventually grew poisoned, her questions becoming screeches and attacks as she demanded to know what he was up to for Contreras, the way she would toss the newspapers at him with accusations. The more that Gus refused to answer, the more she drank, until he’d had no choice but to send her away. She’d become a liability after the assassination attempt on Pinochet. Pilar knew too much about Mateo; they had become as thick as thieves, and her grief had been as great as his own. He had assumed that the two had been having an affair, Mateo filling her head with all of his rambling delusions, but Gus had never asked. He didn’t want to hear the truth spoken.

 

                “My wife … she was my best friend. I grew up with her, ever since we were young children. She … _wanted_ to help me. Knew what my father was like, what he expected of me. But our marriage changed after the girls were born. We had them one right after the other, _in a hurry,_ she said,” Gus remembered fondly. That small window of time when he’d felt passion for his wife, as he was ascending in the ranks, Contreras putting so much faith in him with every new assignment.

               

                “Where do they live now?” Pinkman looked only half-interested as he picked up a piece of toast and nibbled at the end, discarding it after one bite.

 

                “Remedios is in Venezuela, near Caracas. She is a botanist, working at the university there. My other daughter, Victoria, she lives near her mother, in São Paulo, but that one never stays in one place for long. A very fine journalist, she is, and now she is working on a book,” he said with pride. Of course, the content of the book was a major bone of contention between them, but Victoria had made up her mind about his past.

 

                Pinkman widened his eyes with exaggeration as he reared back his head. “Wow. So, how the hell did you end up in this shithole? Was Albuquerque your idea of the American Dream or something? All these meth heads we got here making you think this was the perfect place to set up shop?”

 

                “I came here by chance, actually. A fortuitous meeting with an interesting gentleman brought me to this place. Before, in Juárez, Max and I had opened a full restaurant. He was a wonderful chef, very talented. We developed a reputation very quickly after we arrived and had a growing clientele. We … also had the other business we were starting. I had capital from my ventures back home, and a few financial backers from the connections I had made in … my previous work in Chile. Max’s product was never as _refined_ as Walter’s recipe, of course. It probably wouldn’t have come close to the percentage you achieved in Mexico. But this was the early days, you understand, when cocaine was all anyone was interested in.”

 

                “Wait, wait a sec – ” Pinkman held up a hand, leaning forward with concentrated disbelief, “Yo, your boyfriend was your _cook?”_

“Yes,” Gus answered matter-of-factly, wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

 

                Pinkman looked deeply disturbed by the news, but simply sat back in his chair, eyeing Gus skeptically. He crossed an arm up to his chest, scratching at the tattooed lizard, before gazing off to the front of the house longingly. He seemed to be done eating and Gus chose the moment to stand, dropping his napkin to his plate.

 

                “Well, I will leave you to clean up. Go ahead and run the dishwasher when you are done. I’ll be in my office going through my mail. Do you know how to make a _café con leche_?” he asked, pointing to the espresso machine.

 

                “Uh, no. I don’t even know what that is.”

 

                “Never mind, then. I will show you later.” Gust turned to leave, but Pinkman stood up in a hurry, grabbing at the corner of the towel as it loosened at his waist.

 

                “Um, wait. Gus – I, uh, can I get some clothes on first? I mean … I look a little ridiculous like this, trying to hold up a towel while I’m, you know, clearing the table.”

 

                “So, then take it off,” Gus suggested frankly. “I want you to feel comfortable. We will worry about your clothes when you come upstairs.” With his pronouncement made, he left the room and took a sharp turn past the dining room to his office, pushing away more giddy thoughts of what would come soon.

 

 

                                                                                                                            

* * *

 

 

                It was twenty minutes later when Gus entered the kitchen again, greeted by the hum of the dishwasher as it droned along. The tables and countertops were wiped spotless. Pinkman stood at one of the sides with his back to Gus, staring intently at whatever was in his hands. The towel was gone, a pair of boxers in its place.

 

                “I did not say you could dress,” Gus uttered coldly, his righteousness converging in his spine and shoulders.

 

                Pinkman jumped about a foot in the air, cigarettes suddenly exploding all over the counter.

 

                “Jesus! You scared the _shit_ out of me!” the boy shouted, frantically collecting the spilled cigarettes with badly shaking hands as he tried to shove them back in their box. “What kind of ninja shit _is_ that? Don’t sneak up on people, man.”

 

                “You disobeyed me,” he charged, as Pinkman bent down to pick up the remaining few on the floor.

 

                “I didn’t!” Pinkman got back up to face Gus, appearing anxious. Gus saw two coffee cups on the counter as the boy moved out of the way. “You said – you told me that I could be comfortable, that I didn’t have to wear the towel. I was just … I didn’t put clothes on. It’s just underwear. I thought that was cool.” He turned to indicate the coffees. “I made what you asked. It’s just instant, though. With steamed milk, right? Instead of water? I remembered what _leche_ meant.”

 

                Gus took a long breath through his nose, walked to the counter to pick up the mugs and then tossed their insides into the sink. “Instant is shit. Where did you even find this? It must be ancient.” He was annoyed that the boy had snuck upstairs without him noticing.

 

                “Well, I’m sorry I messed it up. You were still busy so I figured I’d give it a shot.”

 

                In a flash, he pushed Pinkman back against the counter, grabbed hold of the boy’s waistband and stretched the boxers out several inches. “When I say no clothes, this means _no clothes._ Not even these.” He pulled them downward, took hold of both sides and dragged them to the floor. Gus smacked at the boy’s ankle until he lifted each foot, pulling the boxers away as soon as they were free. He stood up and walked to the sink, opened the door underneath and stuffed the pants in the trash.

 

                “Go upstairs,” he demanded when he turned back to Pinkman, who now looked positively terrified. “To my room. Now.”

 

                The boy darted out of the kitchen, racing naked up the stairs, while Gus followed behind in slow, plodding steps, getting his mind prepared. When he finally made it into the room, Pinkman was on his knees, hands behind his head.

 

                “Look, I’m sorry, Gus,” he began right away, words tumbling over each other. “I misunderstood, is all. I wasn’t trying to piss you off, I swear.”

 

                “Get up on the bed,” Gus said, ignoring the boy’s pleas. Pinkman had already proven that he wasn’t stupid.

 

                “Uh, I don’t –” he climbed carefully onto the mattress on tremulous legs, his speech just as shaky. “I – I don’t know what you want. I made a mistake, okay? Just – don’t be angry.”

 

                “This is not angry,” he told the boy calmly. “Lay down. On your stomach.”

 

                “Gus, please – don’t … don’t do it. I – I didn’t complain. I’m sorry I was being a jerk this morning, alright? Just don’t – don’t fuck me up.”

 

                Gus didn’t say anything. He disappeared into the closet for a moment then came back out with the rolling tray making a jangly clatter as he directed it to the end of the bed. The chains were unspooled, the links singing as they bounced against each other. Gus started at the headboard with the boy’s wrists again, working efficiently as he moved to each corner.

 

                “Seriously, yo. You don’t gotta do this,” he begged.

 

                “That is not for you to decide.” Gus snapped the last leather band around Pinkman’s ankle, leaving little slack in the chain as he clipped it to one of the wooden eyelets that rounded the edge of the footboard. The bed’s entire frame had been specially designed for him and had cost a small fortune, but it had been worth every penny.

 

                He listened as Pinkman’s breaths heightened, his panic increasing as Gus took a much smaller version of the leather bands and slipped it delicately around the top of Pinkman’s scrotal sac, the double snap making the boy jolt forward. The chain link connected to it was pulled to the center of the frame and clipped as well, a trio of silver carabiners clinging tenaciously to the wood with their metal mouths like tiny devils.

 

                “What are you doing? What is that, man? That feels fucked up. Why … what the hell is that for, _Gus_? Gus!”

 

                Gus calmly strode to the en suite as Pinkman continued to get hysterical. He pulled the door forward enough to take hold of the white, fluffy tie of his robe hanging on the back, dragged it free from where it was slung through its loops and marched back to the bed. Climbing on to the boy’s back, he wrapped the tie around Pinkman’s mouth once, crossed it at the back of his head and then brought both ends to the front again, giving him a second wrap around. He doubled the knot at the back, the terry strips cutting in between lips and teeth. Pinkman’s protests were vociferous behind the gag, but it was a good deal quieter for Gus.

 

                He pulled a pillow from the headboard, bent it in half, and then lifted Pinkman at the hip, stuffing it underneath him. There was a scream in the boy’s throat as his bottom half was elevated, the chains at his ankles and balls going fully taut. Gus went back to his cart, sorting through the remaining gear to grab the next set of restraints before tossing his last few necessary items on the mattress with a heavy thump. They fell between the legs of a squirming Pinkman, his feet banging against the end board.

 

                Gus stretched out the collar in his hands, the thick metal hoop at its center clanging as he snapped the brace twice. His fetish was an expensive one and he owned several intricate pieces, but he appreciated even the most common accoutrements for their basic symbolism, deriving a certain pleasure from the beauty of their utilitarian function and simplicity. He dropped the leather band under Pinkman’s chin, slipping it around his throat to buckle it at the nape of his neck. The boy reared back, wrenching his head down as if trying to see what was being strapped around him. A gurgled insistence rose from his mouth.

 

                “Just lay still and relax,” Gus said, his voice deep and calculated. “It will be much better for you if you do. The rest can be difficult or very simple, depending on how you choose to conduct yourself.”

 

                He took a deep breath and began to unbutton his shirt, walking to the closet as he pulled it off. Gus hung it up and then slipped off his sandals, leaving his ribbed undershirt on as he went back to the cart at the foot of the bed. This was his favorite part. Grabbing the last loop of chain link, he sat on top of the boy again, facing towards his feet as he straddled Pinkman’s back. The boy kicked furiously at the board, his muffled screams rising as Gus leaned over and slapped his ass. “Stop this,” Gus commanded dismissively, wanting the boy to accept the situation and be done with the histrionics. The tube on the bed had a flip cap and he snapped it open, upturning it over Pinkman’s rear end as he slipped fingers in the seam of the boy’s ass and spread him open. Pinkman started to buck up, causing the chains to rumble as they tightened over the wood. It sounded like he was trying to form words through the binds, his shouts shaped into short angry bursts and drawn out vowels. Gus squeezed the tube and let the clear gel coat the boy. He lifted up the second item, glossy black and unwieldy, its weight making it flop to the side.

 

                “You need to stop moving around,” he told Pinkman, who was still complaining through his teeth while he tugged the chains clipped to the headboard as if he were trying to pull out the wall. “Breathe normally, you are too worked up. This is not good.”

 

                Pinkman tried to voice his outrage again, a long screech sounding like the boy’s throat was being exploded into shreds.

 

                “ _Basta!_ ” Gus yelled, smacking the fleshy rump in front of him. He almost preferred the catatonic version of Pinkman after he’d killed Gale, his resigned silence juxtaposed to Walt’s incessant ramblings a thing that had first caught Gus’s notice, had made him start to think of the boy differently. He split the crease of Pinkman’s ass once more, dropped the heavy rubber between it as he returned to the tube, holding it over the head of the dildo and squirting a generous amount over the bulbous tip.

 

                As soon as Gus pushed it against the boy he went still, his entire body taut, trying to close himself off to all intrusions. Gus moved it away and used his fingers at first, working at Pinkman’s resistance until he gave in, allowing him entrance. He delved slowly and gently, trying to instill a sense of languid ease into the boy’s muscles before he attempted the dildo again. Pinkman soon stopped fighting – Gus could hear him drop his head to the bed – and when he was completely still, Gus removed his fingers and pressed the head of thick silicone to the widened aperture. There was a long, guttural moan as the rubber began to be swallowed up, Gus impelling it further in light, tapping thrusts. He directed it slowly, retrieving his patience as the end became visibly near.

 

                With a final contraction, Gus eased the dildo snugly into place, quick to reach for the last chain by a clipped tail and attach it to the strand tethering Pinkman’s balls to the bed. The end of it included a leather tongue between the links that Gus strapped across the base of the dildo, the chain resuming on the other side. He finally got off of the boy, to run the silver up Pinkman’s back and snap it to the buckle of the collar, securing the thong so that the dildo couldn’t be rejected.

 

                Gus stood back to observe the boy’s state. He seemed to have quieted down but Gus could see the rapid respiration in the tremors of Pinkman’s back and sides and he worried that the boy might hyperventilate if he didn’t slow his breathing. Gus pressed a hand to his back. “You are fine. Now, relax and think about why you are here. I want no more of this foolishness. Try to show me some dignity while you are in my care.”

 

                He started to walk away, but then came back to the head of the bed to grab another pillow, slipping a second stack under Pinkman’s abdomen so that his torso was almost off the bed, the backs of his legs stressed all the way to his shins. Gus retrieved his shirt from its hanger in the closet and put it back on, tucking it into his slacks. He left the collar open casually, slipped his feet back into his sandals and walked out of the room without a look back, his gait unaffected and complacent.

 

                Gus went to do some work in his office, got lost in a few files, leaving Pinkman alone for a few hours. He hadn’t forgotten about the boy, of course, but the anticipation was its own kind of drug for Gus, the delight in his belly making him feel buoyant, his cock hard the entire time. Vibrant images teemed in his head as he paid bills on his computer: some of the boy, some of Max, and a few heady remembrances from the rooms of the villa just outside of Santiago. That place had been the best course Gus could have ever had on the human mind, the smaller number of cases giving him ample time to get to know the prisoners’ every secret, learn their limits of endurance. The power that ran through him when he figured them out, got them to admit anything and everything, was an addictive thrill that swelled up his chest, made him want to beat upon it in a primal show of dominance. Gus paused in his typing, listened to the house for any cries or sounds of struggle, but heard only the ticking of the clock on the wall over his desk. He stood up, concerned for a moment, but then closed up his laptop, shuffled his papers into an outbox, and headed back upstairs, stopping in the kitchen to grab another water bottle.

 

                Walking back into the bedroom, he was met with the picture of Pinkman asleep, arms and legs still pulled askew. The boy looked peaceful, almost innocent, and Gus smiled at the him affectionately before marching up to the bed and bringing a hard, open palm down on his diminutive ass. Pinkman’s gargled shout was sharp and loud, his eyes springing open in bewildered fright.

 

                “Wake up,” he said as he set the bottle on the nightstand. “This is not time for naps. I want you to understand what you have done.”

 

                Pinkman gazed up at him blearily, the hurt in his face causing Gus to feel the slightest remorse for a brief second. There was a milder reply, Pinkman’s gagged queries filled with diphthongs and sonant syllables that resembled a request.

 

                Gus unbuttoned his shirt again, this time leaving it draped across the top of the bed. He unbuckled his belt, then unhooked his pants, his gaze zeroed in on Pinkman’s changing expression, watching the confusion return back to fear. He let the slacks drop to the floor, stepped out of his sandals and the pants at the same time, then folded the latter along the creases and set them on top of his shirt. Standing in his briefs and undershirt, he picked up the belt and looped it back on itself like a noose, as if he were preparing to wrangle cattle, slapping the end of it against his palm as he stared Pinkman down.

 

                “I told you before – if you disobey me, punishment will be swift, but never severe. You need – to _listen –_ to what – I – say. I will not tolerate your insolence from this moment on. Out there, you can yell at whomever you want, but _here_ – you speak to me with respect. Is that clear?”

 

                The boy nodded his head slowly, staring at the belt with eyes wide enough to strain a nerve. Gus moved to stand at the foot of the bed, and Pinkman got out one disturbed whine before the belt came down, lashing at the left side of his ass. Pinkman jerked his body away with a terrified but muted scream, the leap only making his binds tighter. His throat already sounded the worse for wear, but he continued to vocalize his pain as Gus brought down the belt a second and third and fourth time. He swung the belt downward, concentrating on one cheek for several minutes until the boy’s skin was a ruddy red, and then switching to the other side. He slapped the belt against the leather patch stripped between the boy’s ass, making Pinkman dive towards the headboard again, and Gus could see the cords of muscle in his back legs suddenly defined, noted the way the testes had dropped, the flesh stretched and angry. The belt licked the skin there as well and Pinkman howled through his gag. He brought the belt down again in the same spot, until the screams became glottal, ending in a deep sob. The boy had stopped moving, seemed to hover in the air with a suckered breath as he waited for the next sting.

 

                “Do you understand now?”

 

                Pinkman’s response was a feeble groan, his forehead pressed against the mattress.

 

                It was all Gus needed to hear.

 

                He stripped quickly, his erection a divining rod to Pinkman’s ass. The chain that secured the embedded phallus was disconnected and tossed to the side, one hand already guiding the rubber back into the light. As soon as it was free, the boy whined his relief, but it was replaced in the next breath, Gus’s knees now on the bed and his cock taking advantage of the gape that had been left for him. He entered him and Pinkman suddenly bucked violently, started to thrash in his restraints. Gus clasped the loosened chain lying idly on the mattress and pulled it to him, forcing Pinkman’s back to bow, his head wrenched towards Gus.

 

                With his anticipation like a balloon about to pop, Gus began to fuck the boy diligently, at one point bending down to bite at the backside of his shoulders, settling a toothy grip into the trapezius wedge as if he were a mother lion holding on to her cub. He suckled the skin there, his rhythm moving at a fast enough clip so that the headboard clapped in time, mechanized and urgent. And when he came with a forceful shout, Pinkman followed with one of his own, although the volume sounded like an accusation, the tone enraged.

 

                As soon as Gus got off the boy, he walked around in circles until his breathing was back under control, his chest heaving hard enough to hurt. When he’d returned to a normal heart rate, feeling centered once more, he climbed upon Pinkman’s back again, this time prostrate and relaxed, his wet, sated cock resting between Pinkman’s shoulders. He gave a raspy sigh as he contemplated the ravaged bottom before him, and then separated the boy’s cheeks to view his work. There was a single thought about adding a third pillow, but then need settled back into Gus’s belly and he bent his head far enough to drag his tongue from one end of Pinkman’s crease to the other. For the next quarter hour, Gus was content to eat the boy out, no longer paying any attention to the sounds coming from the other end as his tongue flicked and probed. He couldn’t resist sucking on the _pelotas_ again, seeing as they were already cinched and engorged for him. To hold a man’s balls in his mouth was akin to punching a fist into his chest and squeezing a hand around his bleeding, pumping heart, the power of it providing a rush.

 

                By the time he was aroused again, Pinkman had gone completely quiet. Gus fastidiously removed the cuffs at one end, massaging the red rings they'd left gently, the skin hot. He turned Pinkman over onto his back, but the boy wouldn’t look at him, staring angrily at the window as Gus moved down his body and proceeded to fellate him. The harder he sucked, the harder he pressed on the boy’s thighs, holding them open as his head twisted and whirled over Pinkman’s cock, pulling out every trick to get the boy off. It was successful, as always, and Pinkman finally made a noise, moaning once the second before he spewed his load.

 

                The instant that Gus removed the last restraint, Pinkman was off the bed, dropping to the carpeted floor and scurrying across it on his knees like a monkey, until he had his back up against the wall, the reddened streaks on either side of his mouth from where the ties had cut in giving him the look of a clown. Gus slumped to the bed and sighed, studied Pinkman with a keen eye.

 

                “Don’t be upset. This is just how it is. You will learn that there are consequences to your actions. I need to show you these things, to make you understand the truth of the world. The truth of men. Now it is done and we can move on, put this behind us. Come back on the bed and lie down. I will take care of you. I will run your bath and it will be very soothing, you will see.”

 

                “No.”

 

                “I am not asking, Jesse,” he said, his patience already taking a hit.

 

                “I don’t want you fucking touching me,” Pinkman’s growled back. “Not if you’re gonna do that every time.”

 

                “You needed to be spanked. This will not happen every time if you do what you are asked.”

 

                Pinkman clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowed into hateful slits. “ _Asshole_. I’m talking about you barebacking me. What the fuck was that about? You never said nothing about putting me at risk.”

 

                Gus’s outrage shot up in his throat. “I beg your pardon?” His accent was thick at the affront.

 

                “You heard me. I don’t know how many dudes you’ve fucked over the years. Just ‘cause you want to make me your jizz bucket, doesn’t mean you get to infect me, too.”

 

                The words hadn’t even finished leaving Pinkman’s mouth before Gus was off the bed and had dropped to the floor in front of him, slapping him hard enough to knock the boy’s head into the wall.

 

                “ _I_ infect _you?_ It would be the other way around, you junkie whore. It is _I_ who should be worried. You let your woman die on that _mierda,_ needed someone else to clean up the mess. And you run back to it at the first sign of trouble, its little _puta_.”

 

                The anger and bravado instantly dissipated from the boy, and he looked at the ground shamefully. “It wasn’t like that. We used clean needles, every time. And I don’t do it anymore. It was just the meth I went back to.”

 

                “Then we are good. Clean needles are very good, and very important.” He tucked a finger under Pinkman’s chin, made him look into his eyes. “I am a very careful man, Jesse. I do not enter into things lightly. You do not need to fear any disease from me. But do not insult me like this.”

 

                “Why can’t you use a rubber, then? What’s the big deal if you’re so careful all the time? You should be used to it,” Pinkman insisted.

 

                “ _Because I want to feel you,”_ he hissed back. “I want to feel everything inside you. No barriers.” He palmed the shriveled cock between Pinkman’s legs, held the boy’s chin and pressed a thumb to his lips. “Skin on skin, Jesse. This is what I want from you.”

 

                Pinkman pressed his mouth in a tight line, pulled his head free of Gus’s grip. He opened his legs wider, giving Gus more access. “Then I want more money,” he said brazenly. “You always gotta pay extra for risk.”

 

                Gus took a sharp breath as he stared back in surprise, taken aback by the demand. He got up slowly, walked to the spot where he’d left his pile of underclothes and slipped them back on. When he passed Pinkman on the way to the bathroom to start the bath, he bent his head and nodded to the boy, still curled up against the wall.

 

                “Fine. Another million as your bonus. Now let us not discuss this again.”

 

 

 


	9. The Truth

 

 

_Guess I have two jobs now_

Jesse made sure to slam the door as he left. It echoed around the neighborhood like the march of a giant robot and he felt the tiniest leap of satisfaction knowing that it would make Gus cringe. He rushed to his car on the other side of the road, his hands shaking as he tried to stab the key into the door lock several times, eager to be gone. Swinging a glance around the street as the key finally fit, Jesse froze for a beat, noticing the car parked three houses down on the side of the curb. He continued to get into his Tercel, acting nonchalant, as if he hadn’t seen the asshole behind the wheel duck for cover. It was another rental car, black this time, probably an attempt to make it more inconspicuous if the owner were using movie logic.

 

                As soon as Jesse started to drive away, the other car’s engine came to life and before Jesse made it to the end of the street, the car was following. He rolled his eyes in the rear view mirror. God, Grandpa Anus was bad at this. But Jesse was freaked out anyway – how long had he been sitting there? Where was Tyrus? How much had Walter seen? Why the fuck was he even here? He swore aloud as he turned a corner, the black Honda still on his tail. He would rather put up with Gus fucking him seven days a week before he could deal with his former partner knowing about it. He lifted his bottom off the seat for a brief respite as he drove – it was still sore, still throbbing lightly while keeping in time with his heartbeat. The whole damn thing was humiliating. Getting whipped with a belt like some ghetto kid – he was a grown-ass man, for fuck’s sake, he hadn’t even been spanked like that as a child. His parents hadn’t believed in corporal punishment, they’d told him, preferring to ground him for long internments, even though he’d simply sneak out of his window when he wanted to meet up with his friends. And now he was going to get followed all over town by his other dad? This was all bullshit.

 

                The streets changed from residential to the busier business block, and Jesse pressed his foot on the gas, sped ahead to get past the streetlight before it changed. Walt had to stop as it turned red, and Jesse exhaled with a mighty relief. He pulled his phone from his pocket and punched in a quick text, glancing back in his rear view mirror as he sent the message. He could only handle one megalomaniac at a time, and he was still trying to get a grip on his day with Gus. Mr. White could go fuck himself; he’d said all he could to the man, and here he was, caught in yet another fucked up predicament thanks to this asshole.

 

                He cut through a parking lot, driving recklessly as he sped to the end of the row of cars, narrowly missing a few pedestrians who shouted back at him before he emptied the Toyota into another side road, taking a back route to Andrea’s. Jesse was too keyed up to pay attention to the speed limit, but he kept his eyes peeled for cops as he took a corner with a squeal from his tires. He stayed tense for three or four blocks, but started to calm down once it became obvious that Walter wouldn’t be catching up.

 

                Turning down another residential street, Jesse pulled out his pack of cigarettes from the front of his jeans and stuck one in his mouth, plugging in the lighter on his dash. He shook his head in irritation, chastising himself as he thought back to earlier in the day. He’d been so close. If it hadn’t been for his damn conscience, though, he’d currently be out of a vial of ricin. But no, he’d had to stand there and think about it for a handful of minutes, debating whether it was the right thing to do. Poisoning Gus was still a daunting effort. The ricin wasn’t instantaneous, there would always be that chance that Gus could figure it out before he was too badly off, could have Mike or Tyrus put a bullet in his and Mr. White’s heads before the guy keeled over dead. Jesse felt a sick wave of nausea wash over him as he thought about Gus’s grisly threat to kill Mr. White’s entire family. The dude was seriously fucked up. He wasn’t a man that could be taken out easily; it would require a delicate hand. More delicate than Jesse’s.

 

                The thought of Mike in all of this had him wondering again where the old guy’s true allegiance lay. What would he be like when he got back from his convalescence in a make-shift hospital tent? Did Jesse even matter to him? Or was it all for show, a way to get him working for Gus? The idea that Mike’s eventual respect for him might have all been a sham was overbearingly depressing to Jesse. It was one thing to discover Gus had ulterior motives for treating him like a human being, but for Mike to have conned him would be a crushing blow. And he could really use someone to talk to about Gus – even if it was in a roundabout way. If Mike was at all lenient with Jesse once he got back, there would be a real font of knowledge available to him. He needed to figure out how to work Gus. He could possibly tolerate playing his bitch if he at least had an angle, was working towards something.

 

                Thinking of angles made him pull off his jacket awkwardly and lift his seat again, stuffing the denim underneath him as a cushion. It wasn’t just the whipping that had his rear end complaining in thuds. Leave it to Gus to wait until the final twenty minutes before Jesse was free to go to pull him back upstairs and fuck the bejesus out of him again. Apparently,Walter wasn’t the only greedy motherfucker he had to put up with. It appeared that Gus wasn’t at all concerned that Jesse was still a novice to ass poundings, either, but at least he hadn’t been bound and gagged for that one. He shifted in his seat. His body felt odd to him, foreign somehow, like it was going to feel what it wanted to feel regardless of what his brain was telling it. Gus had made him come again and the disappointment he felt in himself was unsparing. The entire ordeal was demoralizing, but to give Gus the satisfaction of getting him off just added a whole other layer to his body’s betrayal. Jesse just hadn’t been up to fighting another brief moment of allowing his body to feel good – he needed a hit of ecstasy just to make him forget where he was for a minute. The guy might be terrifying, but he sucked dick like a porn queen.

 

                There was a small mini-mart on the corner of the street that led down to Andrea’s house and he pulled in to park. Jesse went in to peruse the chilled beverage wall, checking out the beer section at first. There was a strip of cheap wines next to them and Jesse opened up the glass door and grabbed the biggest bottle on the rack. He needed alcohol tonight. He picked up some Jolly Ranchers and Junior Mints for Brock, and a few other items on the way to the counter, paid for them and left, his face feeling hot as he walked outside. The shop clerk wouldn’t have any clue that he was a recovering junkie, nor would he be likely to care, but Jesse still felt like he was being judged by the outside world. He got in his car and put his idling cigarette back in his mouth, peeling out of the lot in defiance.

 

                It was dark as he pulled into Andrea’s driveway. He took a whiff under his armpit and then another in the general area in front of him, hoping that there wasn’t any lingering smell of sex wafting up from the crotch of his jeans. He’d insisted on using Gus’s shower in the guest bathroom before he’d left, making him even later for dinner, but he wasn’t about to step foot into their house with Gus still all over him. Jesse closed his eyes, crushed the cigarette butt in its tray and then sucked in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he opened his car door.

 

                “Babe, you made it,” Andrea said with a smile, stepping aside to let him into the house. She leaned over to kiss him and Jesse felt an immediate sense of home, the fear and tension from his day sloughing off like mud with just the touch of her lips.

 

                “Jesse! I got something to show you!” Brock crowed as he jumped up from his spot in front of the television to run and greet Jesse. He held out a fist, his grin taking up his entire face as Jesse returned the bump.

 

                “How’s it going, little man? Here, don’t show your mother, alright?” he said in front of her as he handed Brock the candy. “It’s for _after_ dinner, yo. Don’t make me look bad.”

 

                Brock peered in the bag excitedly before Andrea plucked it out of his hand. “You heard him – after dinner, Brock. C’mon, let’s sit down. It’s been waiting in the oven.”

 

                “Sorry I was late, hon. I, uh, just got held up with something. Here, I got something for you, too. Well, for us, I mean. To go with dinner.”

 

                The neck of the wine bottle poked out of its wrapper, making it plain what was inside. Andrea took it apprehensively, her mouth turning down as she pulled half of it out to reveal the label. “Oh. Um, thanks, I guess. I’ll probably just have one glass, though.”

 

                She pointed him to the dining room table while Brock grabbed for his hand, rambling the story for his latest game with unbridled exuberance. Jesse only partially listened, realizing he’d fucked up again with Andrea’s reaction to the wine. He could take it or leave it, it didn’t really affect his need for crystal, but he hadn’t really considered her particular level of self-restraint. He sat down gingerly with a sigh, glad for the seat cushion, as Brock positioned himself next to him, still talking. Jesse knew it was not the kid’s normal state of being, that he always got super excited when Jesse came to visit, so he shook off his blunder and paid full attention to Brock’s enthusiastic review. The table had already been set and he imagined that they’d been waiting a while, making him feel all the more shitty.

 

                “That sounds totally cool, Brock. Maybe you can show me how to play after dinner, okay? What else has been going on, though? You still having fun at your new school?”

 

                Brock nodded with gusto. “I like it there. The teachers are nice and the computers are really cool. You can do a lot of neat things on the programs they have, like Photoshop. My friend, Pedro, knows everything about them.”

 

                “Awesome. Computers at school are sweet, yo.” Andrea set plates of food down, the rising aroma making him realize how utterly famished he was. Gus had made him some weird sandwiches for lunch after he’d had to suffer through another bath, only he’d called it _once,_ in Spanish, telling him that Chileans ate their biggest meal in the afternoon. There had been some kind of sweet spread that tasted like candy, and avocados in his hoagie, but supposedly, excessive and terrifying sex made him really hungry because he was ready for the big helping of the meat casserole that Andrea was heaping on to his plate.

 

                “Man, that looks seriously amazing. Thanks for waiting for me, babe. I hope it wasn’t sitting in the oven too long.” He reached up to stroke her arm as she served the food.

 

                “Don’t worry, Jesse, it’s all good. We’re both just glad you’re here.” She smiled down at him and Jesse felt another lift, happy that he came to see them instead of racing home to bury himself under the comforter of his bed for another pity party. Andrea left for the kitchen while he pulled apart some garlic bread, breaking a piece off for Brock. When she came back she set down two wine glasses.

 

                “I’ll let you open it up,” she said with a waning smirk, even though it was only a twist cap.

 

                “Yeah, sure.” He stood up to take it off with a snap, tipping the bottle to pour her a glass first. “Tell me when.”

 

                He had expected she’d call a halt before the wine reached the halfway mark of the glass, but she let it keep going, the bowl filled and the liquid climbing near the top when she finally held up a hand. Jesse filled his own glass to the same marker, as a show of solidarity, but he kind of wanted to be drunk, and he kind of needed her to be, as well. He wanted to dissolve away the whole day and distill it down to this moment, sitting at the table with the two of them, his little instant family. This was the only time he ever felt normal anymore, just basking in the generosity they gave him.

 

                “So, what did you guys do today? Anything fun?” he asked as they got started on dinner. Even the food was a welcome to his senses, the Mexican flavors of the casserole familiar and easy, unlike the unusual spices in Gus’s cooking, no matter how delicious some of it could be.

 

                “We went to see Tomás,” Brock said, stuffing a forkful into his mouth. “Mami and Abuela brought him flowers, but I left him some firecrackers. They cried the whole time.”

 

                “That’s enough, Brock, thank you,” Andrea muttered, rolling her eyes at Jesse. “We didn’t cry the _whole_ time. My grandmother … she was just really down today. You know, it’s been hard on her, what happened.”

Instantly, the guilt fell on Jesse’s shoulders like a sack of cement, knowing that he had a role in the boy’s death. It reinforced his disgust in what he was doing with Fring, letting a man who arranged to have kids murdered use him as his personal fuck toy. He picked up the wine and took a hard gulp. “Yeah,” he croaked as he cradled the glass’s bottom in his palm, just like he’d seen Gus do, “I imagine it’s going to take a while for her to get over it.”

 

                Andrea was studying him carefully as he took another swallow from his glass, and she shrugged in resignation as she picked up her fork. “Well … it’s a process, right? She just needs someone to lean on right now.” She gave him a small, dedicated smile. “Hey, let’s talk about something else, okay? Brock, why don’t you tell Jesse thank you for the gift.”

 

                Brock turned agog with excitement. “Jesse, it’s so cool! I can see my games on it as good as the one at your house now. Thank you,” he said sweetly, jerking his hand towards Jesse but accidentally knocking his glass of water on its side. “ _¡Coño!_ ” he shouted, as Jesse jumped up from his seat to tip the glass back, swabbing the puddle with his napkin.

 

                “ _Hey_! Watch your mouth, Brock,” Andrea scolded crossly. “We don’t use that language in this house.”

 

                Brock went quiet, his eyes big and immediately contrite before staring down at his lap.

 

                “Whoa, man, that’s, like, that’s a big one,” Jesse added softly as he attempted to soak up the water. “Even _I_ know that one. Little kids shouldn’t be saying stuff like that.”

 

                “Tomás would say it,” Brock answered in a meek voice.

 

                “Well, Tomas is dead,” Andrea snapped, throwing her own napkin on the spill to wipe them together. “You’re not going to do anything Tomás did. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

 

                Jesse felt the tension invade the room like a northern wind and it was quiet for several minutes as they ate. He looked for any reason to dispel it, needing the evening to be as relaxed as possible, and he patted the back of his hand against the boy’s arm. “Hey. You’re welcome on the television. I’m glad you liked it. I got a really good deal.” Brock darted a glance at him then picked up his fork, stabbing it into his macaroni noodles. “You know what? I bet you know a lot of the good Spanish that I don’t know. You could probably teach me some stuff, huh? Like, what’s television in Spanish?”

 

                Both Andrea and Brock giggled. “Television,” Brock said.

 

                “It’s just _televisión,_ Jesse, _”_ Andrea explained, using an accent, but her features had softened. She took a sip of her wine. “This is nice,” she said.

 

                He felt suddenly awkward and took another gulp from his glass. Gus had spent quite a bit of time during their afternoon meal chiding Jesse on his inability to speak Spanish fluently, even though he had lived and worked in a heavily Hispanic community for all of his life. Jesse had attempted to defend himself but even he could tell that his arguments were weak. The truth was it had just never occurred to him. He was an American living in America, and learning another language seemed a waste of time. He’d picked up a few words here and there hanging with Combo, and even Emilio over the years, but he just aped their speech where he could.

 

                “Okay, well, give me a hard one, then. Something I might need to use every day.”

 

                “C _állate_ ,” Andrea said in a husky voice, her elbows on the table as she leaned over her plate, giving him a sexy grin. She took another leisurely sip from her bowl of wine.

 

                “Oh, wait … that’s … you’re, like, telling me to shut up, or something?” He recognized that phrase, at least.

 

                Brock laughed again. “Mama always tells me, _callate la boca,_ when she’s super mad and I ask her stuff. She says it on the days when the bad clouds are around, that we have to talk in whispers.”

 

                “Oh,” he commented. “Bad clouds, huh? So … _boca_? Is that … what is that?”

 

                She leaned closer to him, grabbed his chin as she brought his face near hers. “It’s this,” she whispered, before kissing him lightly. Her lips were soft and chilled from the wine, and Jesse had a vision of them both in her room, her riding him with her tits in his hands. “I wouldn’t recommend saying that to most people, though,” she added with a rise of her eyebrows. “Not unless you want to get in a fight.”

 

                “Mouth? _Boca_ is mouth, like, shut your mouth?” Brock nodded his head. “So … caya te la bohca,” he repeated flatly, aware that his _gringo_ pronunciation was terrible.

 

                “C _állate,_ say it fast,” Andrea coached, her grip still on his chin. “You suck at this, Pinkman.”

 

                This time he laughed with them. “Yeah, well, someone already informed me of that. I’m trying to improve.”

 

                “Mm, I like it. Look at this white boy trying to get some culture.” She swept a hand over his buzzed head. “Good for you.”

 

                He grinned at her. “You know, I like to learn new stuff all the time.” His voice had gone deeper, throatier, as he leaned over to kiss her back. “You ever want to teach me something, I’m all yours.”

 

                “Can I be excused to go play my game?” Brock groaned.

 

                Andrea poked a finger in her son’s direction. “Take your plate to the kitchen first. And then go wash up.”

 

                “Jesse, are you going to play it with me?”

 

                Jesse picked up his wine again, the glass almost empty. “Um, sure … let me finish eating, and then I’m gonna help your Mom clean up first, okay, bro? I’m going to do the dishes with her and then I’ll come play with you. Is that cool?” He finished his glass off.

 

                “Okay!” The boy ran off to turn on the new set while Jesse pulled Andrea in for another kiss.

 

******

 

               

                “Yeah, baby. Give me another one,” he whispered as he bent down to press his face into her cunt again, his tongue rolling deliriously as he worked to get her off a third time. He had two sets of twinned fingers buried in two different holes, and Andrea continuously lifted her ass off the bed to thrust into his mouth. Her moans were music to his prick, currently stiff enough to break like an icicle as it poked into the mattress. He felt a hand at his forehead, pushing him away.

 

                “Jesse, stop. I need a break,” she begged breathlessly. “Give me a second.”

 

                He slipped his fingers out of her and propped himself on his elbows, pulling back the fleshy part of her hood to expose her clit to the open air. “C’mon, sugar. Grand slam, all the way. I know it’s your favorite.” Jesse dropped his mouth on her again, sucked her lightly with his tongue and lips. He wanted to absorb her, wanted every inch of his skin to smell of her cunt, every secretion smeared across his cheeks, his chin, up his nose – he didn’t care. As long as he was swimming in her. “I want to eat your pussy all night, baby,” he moaned in his throat.

 

                Andrea pushed at him again, trying to shift her body away from him. “Jesse, come on.” They were both lying diagonally on the bed, but as soon as she attempted to sit up, he dragged her down by her thighs and turned her over, the flat of his hand against her pelvic bone. He split her legs again, pressed up at the swelled globes of her bottom. He ran his tongue from her cunt to her asshole, stiffening it to circle the whorl of skin. Gus wasn’t the only one who knew how to eat ass. He didn’t do it often, but the act had its merits. Listening to the girls squeal as they squirmed underneath him was a heady power trip, made him feel insatiable. In the midst of a meth binge, feeling the effects of the fourth hour, he would do just about anything, put his tongue anywhere, to hear those sounds; the colors of the room like smells that spun around him, the buzz in his head a motorized hum accompanying the girls’ every breathy sigh.

 

                It wasn’t just sounds being produced, however. It was about generating a feeling. Jesse spread Andrea wider, ignored the tremble in her legs and attempted to push his tongue inside her. But this time he felt it in his body, too. He could feel exactly what he was doing to her, a ghostly replay of his own ass being filled making him stop and look behind him, terrified that Gus was somehow in the room with them.

 

                He sat up, shaking. “ _Fuuuuck_ ,” he hissed.

 

                Andrea leaned up on her arms, twisted her body to look at him. “Yeah, babe. I want to fuck, okay?” She sat up and faced him earnestly, her arms around her legs. “I thought we could … you know, do some stuff.”

 

                Jesse felt a residual twinge in his wrists and ankles, his arms still store from the way he had pulled on the chains earlier in the day. “Stuff? Like, what kind of stuff?” he asked hesitantly, a sense of dread swirling in his gut.

 

                “You know.” Andrea lifted up a shoulder with a sheepish smile. “You could tie me up again. We can do anal this time, if that’s what you want. I – I got a few things. To make it easier.”

 

                Away from her cunt, with reality trying to protrude its way in, Jesse felt the beginnings of a headache form behind his eyes. They’d polished off the wine bottle between the two of them and sitting up wasn’t doing him any favors. “Yeah, I got some things, too,” he mumbled, thinking of the pocket of his jacket on the floor.

 

                She scurried to her bedside, slid open the drawer and pulled something clangy out of the space. When she turned to him, her smile was even more embarrassed as she held out the leather bracelets connected together for him to see. “Okay, so don’t make fun of me, but … I figured we might as well use the proper tools, you know? I’ve probably stretched out all of your ties by now. We could … you know, make it a thing. I know this place in town, if … if you want to go with me.”

 

                The hard-on that had been so prevalent for most of the evening started to soften. Just looking at the cuffs made Jesse feel ill, and he worried that he might lose his dinner at any moment.

 

                “Um … do we have to do this tonight?” he asked miserably. Instantly, Andrea’s smile disappeared, replaced by a blank mask. Jesse wanted to kick himself, rubbed a hand over his face as his jaw clenched. He was such an asshole.

 

                “No, of course not,” she said in a rush, throwing the bracelets back in the drawer with a clunk. She shut the drawer forcefully, pulled her legs back under her chin, her long hair fanning across them. “Never mind me. It’s stupid, I know. I just thought … you seemed into it last time. You were the one talking about safe words.”

 

                “Yeah. I mean, I was. I’m just … kind of tired tonight. It’s … it’s a lot of extra work, you know?” His backside thrummed in agreement, the audio of the slaps to his ass growing louder in his head.

 

                “Sure, I get it, Jesse. You don’t gotta give me a bunch of excuses. It’s not a big deal.” The tone of dejection rang out in her voice, loud and clear.

 

                Jesse turned to her, took hold of her hand and pulled it to his chest. “Look, babe … can I ask you something? And, I mean, I’m not judging you … here. I promise. I … I just want to know, okay?”

 

                She peeked at him from behind her curtain of hair. “Know what? Why I’m a freak?”

 

                “ _Andrea_ … babe, I don’t … think you’re a freak. I don’t got any room to talk, alright? I’m just … like, I want to know, what is it that you like about it? I mean, what do _you_ get out of it? I feel like … I shouldn’t be treating you that way. I thought girls wanted guys to treat them with respect. And it’s like, I don’t know, you want me to _hurt you._ To treat you like shit. I don’t get it.”

 

                “I don’t want you to treat me like shit,” she said defensively. “When have I ever said that? It’s not like that, at all, Jesse. But I’m supposed to – what? Sum it up for you? Tell you in one line why I feel this way? It doesn’t work like that.”

 

                Jesse nodded his head, the pounding in it getting bolder, as he shifted his feet to the floor and bent down to pick up his jeans. “Yeah, right. Got it. Look, I should probably just go, okay? You’re pissed off, I ain’t feeling so hot, let’s just call it a night.”

 

                But she grabbed hold of his arm, moved closer to him so that she could fit his hand between her legs. “Hey. Sorry, don’t go. I get bitchy, ‘cause it’s a sensitive subject with me. Just ignore it, okay? I can try to answer your questions, but I’m not promising they’ll make any sense.”

 

                Jesse took a deep breath, reviewing his afternoon again. “Okay. That’s fair. I can work with that. Um … you say you want me to tie you up, but … what else? I mean, do you want me to spank you?”

 

                Andrea arched her eyebrows in surprise. “Well. Since you mention it. I … I have been known to get into spankings.”

 

                “With just a bare hand, or … like a paddle, something hard core like that?” He got a flash of the shit hanging on Gus’s closet wall, things that he hadn’t even come across in porn. The dude was definitely hardcore.

 

                Andrea looked off for a beat, shrugging her shoulders again. “Um … sure. As long as I’m prepared for it. I … that shit was usually happening when I was high, though. I haven’t done anything really intense while I’m straight in a long time.”

 

                “What’s the thing with the choking? Isn’t that kind of dangerous? I mean, is that it? It’s like an adrenaline rush or something?”

 

                She shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t say that, exactly. It does make me come harder, though. I don’t know, I couldn’t really tell you why that kink. It’s just … it works.”

 

                The more they talked, the more Jesse began to feel at ease, and he thought about the kind of crazy stuff that might be going through Gus’s mind when he was doing those things to him.

 

                “Okay – uh, dildos? You want me to use those on you, too? Or am I enough?”

 

                She tilted her head, the smile she gave him saddened but sweet. “Oh, babe. Of course you’re enough for me.” She smoothed a hand over his dick. “It’s not like that, hon. I love the way we fuck, okay? I want to be with _you.”_ She gave another lopsided shrug. “But … since you asked. I like … the feeling of, you know … being filled completely. Which you already know about me. So … if you wanted to fill my ass with something while you fuck me … you’ll get no objections from me.”

 

                He smiled at her, a laugh in his throat. “Okay. Got it. You like the DP.” He paused, got a sudden image of Andrea with two guys and his chest squeezed uncomfortably, made him feel short of breath. “Uh … is it … can we start slow and then, let me get comfortable with stuff? Are you cool with that?”

 

                “Baby, I am cool with whatever you want to do,” she answered, leaning in to kiss him. But she had him thinking about all manner of sexually related issues, and he pulled back to hold her face in his hands, felt a breeze of relief rush through him.

 

                “So … is it just … do you like … I mean, I know I sound kind of stupid about this, so bear with me, but … do you just need to be dominated because … you want someone to … punish you? Like, for getting fucked up on meth and, you know, having to deal with your shit in, maybe, not the best way? Is it kind of like that?” He imagined that Andrea had her own share of self-loathing, but she probably handled it a lot better than he was able to manage.

 

                She turned thoughtful at the question, looked down at their bodies as she contemplated her answer. When she finally spoke, she looked straight into Jesse’s eyes, held his face in her hands, as well.

 

                “It’s not about being punished for being a shitty person, baby. Maybe once, when I was with the wrong person, but not anymore. It feels _safe._ Like a baby wrapped up snug in a blanket. It’s about being protected and cherished. To know that this one person is looking out for you and won’t let anything bad happen, won’t let you make the same stupid mistakes you keep making to fuck up your life. Like, they’re protecting you from yourself.” Her eyes glistened as tears started to collect, her voice thick with them. “Like, someone gives enough of a shit about you to make sure you do the right thing, that you’re the best that you can be. I don’t see it … as a punishment, Jesse, more like a _gift_. I feel like I’m being toughened up. It’s like a … when the old tribes would send the boys out in the wilderness to fend for themselves, a test of their manhood. You know, girls never get that kind of chance to prove themselves, that they're brave and strong. And it’s like a test for me, too. I want to be stronger. And it helps me to be the strongest I can. That I can … handle anything, you know? I want to keep feeling that.”

 

                Jesse felt his throat swell, felt his own tears spring near. It was as if Andrea had just voiced everything that he’d ever wanted, and hearing it said aloud made him want to run, to hide away from everyone that knew him, like he’d been exposed, standing naked in a square with a jeering crowd. He gripped her wrists and held her fists to his chest.

 

                “You … you think I’m that person for you?” he asked in fear, his doubts about himself creeping back in.

 

                “Baby, I’m not pushing anything on you. I know you got your own shit happening and you’re trying to deal. I get that. You didn’t look too happy when you got here, so I’m guessing this thing you had to do today wasn’t about fun. But … we can help each other, you know? I … I got my own issues, right? We’re both a little screwed up.”

 

                Jesse didn’t think it possible that her issues were anywhere near as extreme as his. “Fine, I’d like that. I don’t know what issues you got, though. You seem to have your shit together a lot better than me.”

 

                Andrea shrugged again. “Well, I got major daddy issues, in case you haven’t figured that out. I mean, both my parents basically dumped me, but at least I’d see my mother around, even if she was useless. I wished she hadn’t taken Tomás to live with her, because look how that turned out. The woman is a _gusano._ But … you know, I have my bad days, too. Today wasn’t the best. I’ve been feeling a little strung out.” She nudged his shoulder. “Until you got here.”

                But Jesse was still reeling from her candor with him and an overwhelming urge took hold of him. Andrea was sharing things with him and the least he could do was share back.

 

                “Hey, look. I … I feel like I should tell you something. I’ve been holding on to it for a while now, and … it’s not right. I should have been straight with you from the beginning.” The golf ball in his throat pulsed, and he tried to swallow around it, closed his eyes as the confession stuck to the roof of his mouth like peanut butter.

 

                Andrea stayed quiet, kept her hands to his chest. “I, uh … it wasn’t just the meth that I was in group for. When I went to rehab – I’d been doing heroin? I mean, not for long, but it was kind of a fucked up situation.” He locked eyes with her as the rest of it rolled up into his diaphragm and lodged there, the name waiting to be pulled free like a thumb in a dike. All of his breath had left him, and he fought to get air through the tiny hole in his throat.

                “I was with this girl. I mean, she was my girlfriend. It was … like, it was pretty serious. Serious for me, anyway. She was in recovery when I met her. Clean eighteen months. I kept smoking dope while we were seeing each other, but, you know, I’d try to do it away from her. But, uh, shit got pretty real. I had … a friend of mine die. He was, uh, gunned down in a drive-by. And I just wanted to smoke my problems away, you know? I wanted to disappear and let the lights go on in my brain and not think about anything for a bit. And uh, she … you know, I got her sucked back in to all that shit. Smack had been her thing, so when she started using with me, it was, like, this natural progression, you dig? It was like, I owed it to her to shoot up with her, cause I’d screwed everything up for her, especially with her dad. But … we were gonna leave, get clean, start over, and then we thought, you know, just one more fix, so we don’t _waste it_. Jesus.” He sucked in his breath, the tears fat and heavy as they landed on his cheek. “The next morning ... I, uh, woke up, and I found her.” He felt the haunted slap on his face from Mike. “She had choked to death. While I was checked out. On the nod, or whatever they call it. She was gone. _Jane_ was gone. Because of me.” He finally looked away from Andrea, stared at his knees through a blurry haze. “That’s the person I am, Andrea. I got really fucked up, after that. Got dragged into the addiction clinic ‘cause I … had people with money looking out for me.” He closed his eyes as he thought about Walt’s embrace, the way he had worried about him in the car, snapping at Mike all the way to the center. He hadn't remembered anything before that moment, but the touch of another person had pulled him awake, had made him feel among the living again.

 

                Arms wrapped around him now and he felt himself being pulled down to the bed, lips touching his with a tenderness that made him weep harder. He saw Gus pinning his head down on another bed, forcing his tongue into his mouth while Jesse’s cock had gotten hard. He couldn’t stand lying to Andrea, but he didn’t know what else he could say to her. Jane would have to be enough.

 

                “Baby, you’re not that man, anymore,” she whispered against his mouth. “Stay with me. We can be here for each other.” Her lips pressed harder against his own and Jesse felt swept up, put his arms around her, too, as he twisted fingers into her hair. The kiss deepened into tongues and thrusts and open mouthed pants. When she climbed up on him, Jesse was thick for her, suddenly desperate to be inside of her, but he moved her body off gently, sat up to reach down for his jacket.

 

                “Are you going? What’s the matter, Jesse?” Andrea asked in alarm.

 

                He took out the box of condoms in his pocket and turned back to her, already ripping it open. “Nah, it’s okay, baby. Let’s just do this right this time.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much, everyone, for your comments and questions. Loving these lengthy reviews! Your show of support is much appreciated.
> 
> Also - congrats to all the graduates this weekend!


	10. The Partner

 

_If you try to interfere, this becomes a much simpler matter. I will kill your wife. I will kill your son. I will kill your infant daughter._

                Walter White felt a breeze slip through the window of his rental as the early evening’s shadows crept through the glass and across his seat, his jaw beginning to ache from the furious clench of his teeth. He’d been staring at the red Tercel for the last half hour, his brain in overdrive as it ran through every possible scenario to explain its owner’s presence at the house.

 

                Walter knew it was a risk being this close to Fring, had driven around the block several times before he’d even made up his mind to park, on the lookout for the bodyguard’s Cutlass Ciera the entire duration with one hand on his gun. But he was a desperate man and the times called for desperate measures. He had several plans waiting to launch into action as soon as fate would allow, and with every attempt he’d come up against a wall. There was only one shining key to get all of them rolling in motion and that key was Jesse Pinkman. _His_ Jesse, not Fring’s. Walt gaped at the façade of the house he’d been invited to little more than a month ago, Gus’s flimsy attempt at friendship – such an obvious ploy to divide him and Jesse – still fresh in his mind, and here it was, the tables turned with Jesse inside while he waited out on the street expecting his family to be murdered at any moment. It was ridiculous.

 

                He couldn’t even imagine what they would be talking about – surely there was no overlap of interests that could be shared, no topics that either man would care to discuss outside of the business, unless Gus had a secret penchant for video games. What the hell was Gus telling him? Walter gritted his teeth tighter just the tiniest fraction, until the pain in his jaw met with the low thud of his headache halfway through his face, as he envisioned Gus filling Jesse’s head with lies about him over dinner, trying to convince his impressionable partner that Walter hadn’t had Jesse’s best interests at heart. But that just wasn’t true. He’d _always_ put Jesse before himself. Hadn’t he? Even before the fight, he’d only been attempting to make Jesse see things clearly. Watching that grouper, Mike, with his monolithic stare, taking Jesse out on runs like they were a team, as if Mike hadn’t been sent to kill Jesse only weeks before – it had all been so obvious. How could the kid not see it?

 

                _He said, he sees something in me._ Walter had tried to explain to Jesse what Gus was doing, vivisect for the boy the type of mind games he was playing in order to get his way, but of course Jesse had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. Walter realized too late that the line should have come from him, a long time ago, and his irritation with himself for lacking the foresight to keep his partner’s emotional needs in check was a small scale of the fury that he felt for Gus at getting one over on him – as well as the fury he felt with Jesse for being so easily duped. It just made everything that much harder for Walter. But then, when had Jesse ever made anything easy?

 

                Walter put his hand over his sunglasses, willing away his anger along with the migraine so that he could concentrate on the matter at hand with a clear head. He needed to think lucidly about his options. He was rapidly running out of time and he’d spent the better part of the last few days just sitting in cars watching various people through a pair of binoculars. He’d been reduced to spying on his own house, for God’s sake. While he was relieved that the two goons that had been waiting around at his place hadn’t unloaded their bullets into his neighbor, Rebecca, he’d had little choice but to call her, glad that she’d been home to flush Gus’s men out. Yet the visit had garnered him a semblance of an idea.

 

                The impotence he’d felt since Gus had cast him out of favor reared up its worm-like head, and when he took another look at Jesse’s car on the curb, he wondered again just how long it had been sitting there. When he had initially noticed it, his first inclination was to jump out and touch the hood, check to see if the engine was still warm. Instead, he had parked and watched the windows through magnified lenses, hoping for a quick shot of Jesse moving behind curtains somewhere in the house. He had yet to see any evidence that the two of them were even inside.

 

                He glanced at his watch again. It was almost seven. They could reasonably still be eating, particularly if Gus was making more of that fish stew – Paila Marina, if he recalled. Jesse had spent over two hours with Gus the last time, when Walter had tracked him in order to invalidate all of the lying his young partner had been feeding him for weeks. He had gone about it all wrong, he understood that now, but he had tried his best to beg for Jesse’s forgiveness. Although it probably came off as more of a plea for his help, but still - Jesse’s outright refusal had shocked him. That just wasn’t like Jesse. It occurred to Walt that something very profound had happened to the boy down in Mexico. The way he’d had that young family over – the mother and son in Jesse’s house like they belonged there – signaled to Walt that he could very well lose Jesse for good if he didn’t do something soon. He had to deal with all of them: keep Hank from getting killed, keep his family safe, get rid of Gus, and somehow manage to pull Jesse back on his side. It was enough to make him want to dive back into that crawl space again and never come out. Let Skyler deal with _that_.

 

                Walt closed his eyes, ashamed at his pettiness. His wife had made a mistake, but he didn’t want her paying for it with her life. He saw Gus’s face loom in his mind, how chilling he had appeared as he’d uttered that deadly threat, the clouds that had passed over the sun stealing the warmth to underline the moment. He had to make this work. He had to take down Fring and he needed Jesse to do it. He _needed_ him. It seemed that Jesse was the one keeping Walt alive at this point, which gave him the smallest hope that Jesse could still be swayed to kill Gus. Jesse might have simply been returning the favor of Walt saving his life, but if there was even the smallest amount of affection left for him, Walter would need to grab hold of it and wring every bit of Jesse’s loyalty out of that remaining sliver of respect. _No matter how hard you try to turn him against me, to screw with his head, so that he would hate my guts...and he still won't let you do it._ Walter had to believe that.

 

                Sticking his hand in the pocket of his jacket, Walt pulled out the torn piece of paper with the address written there in a red felt tip. He looked up at the Toyota again. The plan could work if he just had a way to get to the boy. If _Saul_ hadn’t turned out to have a moral code all of a sudden, things could have already been unfolding, but apparently, even Saul had limits on what he was willing to do for money. Who knew – it had been the worst timing for the discovery. At least he had met him partway. Goodman was able to get the kid’s school schedule, had assured him that he could get what Walt needed off of Jesse as soon as it was a go. All that was left was for Walter to secretly make contact with the little boy. And there had been the second wall.

 

                The idea had come in an instant – starting to form as soon as he had taken a hard look at the bell-shaped flowers that sat every day in his backyard. A plan fell into place, so intricately plotted he had surprised himself. It was like putting together a Jenga puzzle – one piece not secure enough and the whole thing would tumble down. The boy’s face had just popped into his head, the adoring gaze on Jesse when Walter had tried to keep the door from closing having left an impression. The two of them meant something to Jesse, that much was plain. And if Jesse thought that Gus had hurt them – then Walt had his weapon, one that could actually get close to Gus.

 

                He had to go online to refresh his memory on the properties of Lily-of-the-Valley. He knew it was the glycosides that made it deadly, although not fatal if treated in time. The last bit of information was the most important part. Animals and children were prone to the toxin because of its ripe berries – he remembered that little detail from school. The berries on Skyler’s plant were down to a lingering few, however, and it was fully in flower, so his original thought of squeezing the berries into a juice quickly became a moot one. It was the sugar in the chemical compounds that would bind to a non-carbohydrate molecule, causing an increase of calcium stores in the cells around the heart, which made it useful. It had been used historically to treat a weak heart, the cardiac glycosides accelerating the force with which the heart contracted and the blood flowed, working the way doctors used digitalis for arrhythmia. If it had been good enough for the monks, then surely Walt could create a version that would simply make a child sick, not kill him. It would only be lethal if the dose was too much, or if it went untreated for too long, but Walter would make sure that didn’t happen.

 

                Of course, it wouldn’t be pleasant. He’d winced as he’d reviewed the symptoms. Vomiting, diarrhea, blurry vision, disorientation, headaches, red skin rashes, excessive salivation, plus there was the fact that it was a diuretic and would induce extreme urination and possible dehydration. Walter had only gotten a quick look at the boy, but he looked to be around six or seven, maybe a little short for his age, and was likely around forty five pounds. These were calculations Walt could work with.

 

                And he’d gone straight to work on it that same evening, taking the precious few withered berries and pulping them with a couple of the flowers and a bit of the stalk. He didn’t want it to be _too_ ineffectual. It was all a matter of degrees. The convallamarin in the plant could be converted to a white crystalline powder that was soluble in water – and Walt was all about crystalline powders. He’d concocted a solution that very night.

 

                But it was the delivery device that had become the problem. As soon as he had asked Saul about Jesse’s association with the two, Saul had been his usual chatty Cathy self, telling him everything he needed to know. The fact that Jesse was paying their rent, was having Saul drop off extra cash to the girl every week, told Walt that he was going down the right track. Jesse cared for them. This could work. After Saul had balked at switching the kid’s lunch bag for the one he would provide, Walt had been forced to come up with another plan. He’d stayed with the juice idea – using a syringe to poke through the foil of the paper and polyethylene box. It didn’t appear tampered with if a person wasn’t looking too hard, and he didn’t imagine that a six year old at lunchtime would be inspecting his juice box very closely. The straw would be stabbed through the foil quickly, and the juice would be slurped up before any notice of the off-taste even resonated.

 

                The day before, he’d gone to the boy’s school, the class curriculum tucked in his pocket. He had the boy’s name, and his teacher’s, but Walt wasn’t quite sure how he’d be allowed anywhere near the children’s lunches. It would be so much easier to do a simple bait and switch without having to speak with anyone, but the likelihood of that option presenting itself was close to nil. He kept hoping that inspiration would strike as he entered the building, knowing that this was a one-shot deal. Perhaps it would be as easy as finding the room empty while they were at play. But he was running out of time, he felt that every second. He’d brought his old school cards, from when he was at Wynne, to show evidence of his credentials as a teacher. It had been quiet when he’d stepped into the cool air of the building. Hardly anyone about. He’d almost made it to the classroom before he was startled by a security guard coming down the hallway asking questions. A _security guard_ in an elementary school – Walt rolled his eyes in the car. The little hooligans got worse every year.

 

                He’d considered trying to pass himself off as the boy’s dad for about three seconds before he realized how preposterous that would sound. His Spanish wasn’t passable and he looked nothing like a Cantillo. As soon as he’d started his spiel about being a visiting teacher from the high school, and gee, could the gentleman kindly point out Miss Jenkin’s room? – the guard had pulled out a cell phone to call Carmen, the card firmly in his grip. Walt had panicked, came up with a stuttering lie and hoofed it the hell out of there.

 

                So he was back to square one. Hank was currently under federal protection, but for how long? Walt figured he had another week, at best, to get to Gus before they took the detail off of Hank. And there would be no warning this time, before his brother-in-law was outright murdered. Without the DEA’s presence, how could he possibly keep his family safe? Walt let out a weary sigh, finally relaxing his jaw. The boy was his only hope, at the moment, and Jesse was his way in. He tipped up his arm and stared at his watch once more. What the hell were they doing in there?

 

                He leaned his head back against the headrest, feeling very tired as his eyes closed of their own volition. Gus was absurdly sharp – Walt couldn’t afford to drop his guard around him for even a minute, especially in the vicinity of his home, but the image of Jesse standing in his living room suddenly came to him, dreamlike and vivid, the contusions on Jesse’s facing glowing darkly under his track lighting as he’d demanded that Walt get the fuck out of his house and never come back. Jesse couldn’t mean that. He’d been upset, just like Walter had been upset, but they’d had fights before and they had gotten through it, their relationship only growing stronger for it. At least that was how Walter felt.

 

                A door slammed and Walt bolted upright, his forehead smacking into the visor, while his hat toppled to the floor. His mouth dropped open as he watched Jesse stomp his way across the street to his car. For a split second, he felt happy to see him, was glad to see that he looked better, the bruises finally fading. Walt’s heart leapt in that instant and he wanted to call out to him, tell him that all was forgiven, but then Jesse looked in his direction and Walt remembered he wasn’t supposed to be there, threw himself violently sideways as he sprawled across his seat.

 

                There was the creak of Jesse’s door closing, then the _putt-putting_ start of his car, and Walt counted to ten before he sat up again, head ducked low into his chest as he started the Honda. It was still odd not hearing the motor of the Aztek, but Walt appreciated that the current one had a lot of zip to it. He drove away from the curb slowly, being sure to leave enough distance between him and Jesse. The Tercel turned the corner a little too fast for a residential neighborhood – Walter shook his head disapprovingly as he thought of the kids in the area – but he stayed far enough behind to avoid suspicion.

 

                Once they reached the intersection by the gas station, Walter grasped the fact that he’d been made as Jesse sped away like he had the devil on his heels. He gripped the clutch and threw it into third gear as he raced the engine harder, but the next light was turning yellow and Jesse was already careening through it. Just as the Honda’s momentum kicked in, the streetlight changed and he had to slam on the brakes. Walter swore loudly and punched the wheel as he watched Jesse take off, turning into a parking lot at one point and disappearing before Walter could make a move. He took the wrinkled piece of paper out of his pocket again and looked at the address. It wasn’t that far away, maybe twenty minutes from Fring’s place, and in the general direction that Jesse had just headed off to.

 

                His phone buzzed in his pocket and Walter hurriedly fished it out to take a look at its face. It was a message from Jesse. He flipped it up and punched at the name, eager to see if he’d given him a meeting place.

 

_Stop following me, asshole._

                Walter snapped the phone shut with another oath hissed between his lips. Didn’t that little shithead understand anything? Once the light released him, he kept to the speed limit, his mind on a route to get him to the east side of town. As he drove, he heard Gus’s voice echoing in his head, the stench from the bag they’d slipped over his head filling his nose - _Stay away from Pinkman. Do not go near him...ever. Are you listening to me?_

                The terror from the desert had dissipated, replaced by a white hot fury. The notion of Gus telling him that he was _fired_ as if he’d been nothing more than a lowly employee to the man, instead of his golden ticket – he’d been discarded just as Elliot and Gretchen had pushed him out, buying his shares with the suggestion that he needed to work on his anger management. Elliot so smug when he explained that Gretchen didn’t want to talk to Walter anymore. It had been fear and jealousy that drove them all. Gus’s message to him and Jesse that early morning in the lab – it had been a temper tantrum, plain and simple, because Gus had been unable to control Walter, had realized that his master chef wouldn’t just blithely sit by while he went about murdering his partner. No, Gus would learn that Walter White wasn’t a man to be messed with. Gus may be smart, but Walter was smarter.

 

                As he took the road to the highway, he wondered where Mike had disappeared to, recalling Hank’s words about the fracas in Mexico, the mention of an abundance of bodies even by cartel standards putting a fear into Walt as he imagined Jesse’s to be one of them. _We’ll know more when the buzzards leave the bones._ The image had made him feel sick. But if Mike had been left there, that would be a plus for him. One less homicidal goon for him to deal with. There was Tyrus to remove, of course – and Walter was not inclined to forgive the tasering he’d received on Jesse’s lawn. His body still ached from that. But the man went wherever Gus sent him, so perhaps that could be of some use to Walter. He thought it likely that Gus had Jesse under surveillance – whether that involved Tyrus sitting on the street corner outside of his house, or bugs in the walls like Mike had set up at Walter’s, he wasn’t quite sure. It could very well be both. But it wouldn’t be a good idea to go back to Jesse’s block. He’d have to find another way to make the kid talk to him again.

 

                It was dark when Walt took the exit off the 40, and made his way down twelfth with the paper still crinkled between his fingers. He rolled up the window and took out his phone again, wondering if he should call Skyler before he sat for another vigil outside of yet another house. He knew she worried when any length of time elapsed without a check-in from him, but he was loath to engage in another concerned discussion on his whereabouts and what he was doing. The night before, he’d slept at the carwash, unable to face her and Walter Jr. knowing that he’d put them all in danger.

 

                Walter turned down Monument just as a flash of weathered red zipped across the street ahead of him. He blinked owlishly in surprise, his mouth hanging open again. Jesse would take him right to them. He drove up to the corner's sign post and stopped, watched the car zoom down the street for another hundred yards before it slowed and the left rear light started to blink. The car turned into a driveway. Walter waited, checking his watch to see how many minutes had passed before he finally moved the car forward.

 

                He sat outside of their house, the lights inside looking warm and cozy, as he listened to the fading tick of Jesse’s engine. This is where Jesse felt happy, he understood that unequivocally. Imagining Jesse heartbroken if anything happened to this little family tore Walter up, but he closed off that feeling and shuffled it to the side of his thoughts, regarding his own family with the same damaged light. Walter had a vision of them strewn about his house, Skyler shot in her bed, his son’s face blank as he bled from a bullet that split through his brain, his daughter … he squeezed his eyes tight, the grisly image making his head swim. He couldn’t let that happen. He had to do this. Jesse would get over it once the little boy was alright, once Gus was gone. Walter had to believe that.

 

                There was a movement in the window and Walt turned in time to see Jesse step into the yellowish light, his gaze directed to the woman coming up behind him. He could see their mouths move as they talked, Jesse smiling as he tipped his head down to kiss her.

 

                Walter started the car and drove away, crumpling the paper as he tossed it to the floor, the address permanently seared upon his memory.

 

 


	11. The Fixer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Hello, readers. I just wanted to take a moment to acknowledge a recent comment. Denise brought up a valid point about Jesse's care under Gus's supervision. I would heartily agree that no gagged sub should ever be left on their own for that length of time (although Jesse's binds were much less risky in this instance). But this brings me to a very critical distinction that needs to be made in regards to this fic. 
> 
> PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE do not look to Gus to be a model of good Dom behaviour. Gus has his own agenda that has less to do with making Jesse a good little sub, and more about inuring him to the horrors of the business, to the 'evils of men', as it were. Without giving away too much of my story, I will note that I added more stringent tags with the intention of warning readers that this isn't a cuddly D/s romance, but instead, I seek to use the BDSM aspect as just one element to a much darker story. Sega Barret had a better interpretation of it when she pointed out that Andrea is really the character who is more likely to embody safe, sane, and consensual in her sexual relationship with Jesse, and that Gus is not even giving Jesse any awareness of risk at all. Gus is exploiting Jesse because he can. Whether their relationship changes remains to be seen, but currently, we will see that Gus, as he was on the show, is capricious and dangerous - a deadly combination. Part of the intent of having Andrea reveal her kink is to show a comparison between the two relationships, and how both of them regard Jesse in their lives. I was pretty disappointed with how Andrea got short shrift in later seasons, but then, Jesse and Andrea were regularly glossed over. We didn't even get to see him break up with her, which sort of lessened their importance to him, in my eyes. 
> 
> Anyway, the sex will return next chapter when Jesse and Gus meet up again. I will also say to Denise, thank you for the suggestion. It ended up sparking my inspiration on another detail I'd been struggling with and you made me rethink the solution. So, thank you!

 

_A, these things cost $800 a piece. B, you’re not that interesting._

“C’mon, come on! Be nice. Hey, _hey!_ You be nice! Let Wendell in there. Wendell doesn’t eat, nobody eats.”

 

                Mike tossed another handful of feed to the dirt, coaxing the chickens closer as the black and white spotted cock made a beeline to the front of the pack. It was a relaxing way to ease into his mornings, and Mike appreciated having a reason to get up and move around. He looked forward to watching the hens peck their way through conversation, Wendell strutting around as if he had the women in line, the fowl standing in for the morning denizens of the diners he frequented. He imagined Kaylee there with him – she would be a Wendell fan, for sure – and the ongoing dialogue in his head with his granddaughter made for a nice diversion to the incessant pain in his chest and side. The intensity of the wound had dwindled enough for him to plan his return back to New Mexico, but his troubled mind was another thing altogether, one that had only exacerbated with the recent free time on his hands.

 

                “Mike! Gustavo is on the line,” Barry called out, as he strode across the field to the cages. When he got closer, he handed the mobile to Mike, a look of concern on his face. “I still think it’s too soon. I already told him.”

 

                “Yeah,” Mike answered gruffly.

 

                “Are you sure you are up for the trip?” Gustavo began, apropos to Barry’s dehortation. Mike sighed, a hand clutched to his ribs where the bullet had pierced through.

 

                “Look, I’ve been in this business a lot of years, boss. My brown nosing days are long over. If I didn’t think I was ready to come back, you wouldn’t have heard from me.”

 

                “You were never that type,” Gus argued. “But if you are definitely leaving today, I need to know when to expect you. I have need of you as soon as you get back.”

 

                Mike frowned at the collected birds on the ground, immediately worried that Gus’s job involved Jesse. “Is it anything to do with what happened down here?” he asked tentatively.

 

                “No, nothing like that. We are in the clear for the foreseeable future, but the sooner you get back the better for us all. It is not safe for you where you are. Leave as soon as you are able.”

 

                Mike shook his head to no one, his suspicions growing stronger. “This thing you need me to do – it wouldn’t happen to involve a certain associate with a sense of entitlement that would put my snobbish aunt Margaret to shame, would it?”

 

                It was quiet on the other end for several beats. “Just tell me when you expect to arrive. I’ll meet you at my office as soon as you get here.”

 

                “I should be leaving here in another few hours, so I can get to your place around four.”

 

                “Excellent. I will see you there.”

 

                The other line died and Mike handed it off to Barry, his thoughts in disarray. Walter was out, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still a problem. He knew Gus would put Jesse in the lab on his own, the kid had proven he was more than up to the task. Mike still couldn’t believe the kid’s turnaround, but Gustavo had been right. All it had taken was a little confidence boosting. His worry was that Walter was still lurking in the corners waiting to tear it down. If Gus needed him to take Walter out – well, that would be fine by him, but he knew Jesse would be upset about it, and that was what was troubling him.

 

                He’d been surprised by just how much he’d had the kid on his mind during his week on the mend. The alarm and concern in Jesse’s voice as he’d called for help, dragging Mike into the triage tent on his own even though Mike outweighed him by about eighty pounds. He’d held on to the kid for dear life, the shock still wearing him through, but he wouldn’t forget Jesse’s insistence that Mike receive some medical treatment. _What about him?!_ It was enough to make him feel a little ashamed at all of his urgent advising to Gustavo that they put the boy down. Not only had the kid pulled a ninety six percent out of his ass and wiped the floor with that arrogant prick of a chemist, but he had gone and saved Mike’s life, taking out the shooter even while he was quaking in fear. Pride didn’t begin to cover all of the feelings Mike was experiencing in his current mood.

 

                But if Gus planned to appoint Jesse as his head cook, what did that mean for the entire operation? Walter was a timebomb due to explode, it would be virtually impossible for him to sit by while they moved on without him. Yet, if Walter were removed from the picture, the kid had the potential to break down again, spiraling into another tailspin just as he’d done after shooting Gale. None of them could afford that.

 

                “I’m guessing we’re having omelet again for breakfast,” he said to Barry as they walked back to the main building of the abandoned factory, nodding towards the chickens.

 

                “But it is a Mexican omelet, my friend. So it is never a disappointment.” Barry clapped Mike on the back. “You make sure that you follow my instructions. Don’t push yourself. At your age, and with the angle of the bullet, you’re very lucky to be walking out of here.”

 

                “Yeah, well, the thing about luck,” he contended as they stepped into the shade, “is that it tends to come in streaks. Let’s just say, I’m expecting a fruitful couple of weeks.”

 

******

As he drove down the state road leading into Albuquerque _,_ Mike’s thoughts swung back and forth like a pendulum as he continued to weigh his options.The gunshot wound was going to slow him down, he expected, but in this line of work, getting shot was no longer a matter of risk, it was inevitable. He was no spring chicken, and they were still in crisis mode. The DEA agent wasn’t simply going to stop digging for more dirt. Mike was old and he was tired, and this latest setback only had him growing more weary, his mind settling on the security box of cash he’d put aside for Kaylee. He didn’t want to leave her just yet, but when it was time to get out of the business, Mike knew he wouldn’t be able to stick around, would need to make tracks out of the country. Someplace tropical, he imagined.

                He worried about his effectiveness to Gustavo. He’d missed the potential in the kid, had seen only another screw-up that would drag them all down. Yet it had been Walter who’d been the fly in the ointment the whole time. As much as he despised the man, Mike could at least always rely on Walt to have some small measure of professionalism, but watching over Jesse was another kettle of fish. He was afraid for the kid. Mike had vetted and hired all kinds of men in his time, and he knew what to look for in the eyes, knew which ones were cut out for the wet work in just a glance. Pinkman didn’t fit any of the criteria. He could take direction, and he’d do what needed to be done, but it would always leave a toll on the kid, and the thought of that kind of cumulative guilt permanently fused to the boy’s soul left a score on Mike that he didn’t need. He knew he wasn’t getting any redemption arc in this life, and he’d made peace with that a long time ago. But the kid … Mike sighed. Jesse certainly grew on a person. Two weeks together and here he was fretting over him like he was the kid’s daddy. Suddenly, Mike was having bothersome dreams about Victor, and the image of Jesse in his place was not a comforting one. Losing Victor had been a shock, and it was a side of Gus that Mike had seen only a few times before, but there had been a schism in that moment, dividing his loyalty and sense of self-preservation. He realized in that instant that he needed to be a little more wary around his boss.

                By the time Mike was turning off the expressway to make his way to Los Pollos, he’d argued himself into submission. He’d see what Gus’s plan was – they were usually pretty on target – and he’d keep Jesse under his wing. Maybe take him back out on the range. Find him a piece that the kid could handle. The little shit could be annoying as hell when he wanted to be, but the last shooting practice he’d had with the kid had been free of attitude, Jesse turning himself into a willing and model student as he’d listened earnestly to everything Mike had to say.

 

                He didn’t bother to swing by the house, but went straight to the restaurant, as eager to hear what Gus needed from him as his employer seemed keen on having him back. Pulling into the parking lot, he scanned the vehicles assembled, almost expecting to see Walter and his brother-in-law hanging around. Mike took a long time to get out of the car, feeling all sorts of screams and protests from his body as he stood up on his feet. He was certainly looking forward to his own bed tonight. And some good drugs.

                Cynthia was behind the counter with a long line of customers, but she smiled when she saw him, pointing towards the back to let him know that Gustavo was in. He ambled tiredly to the office, his fatigue a shroud that wrapped around him.

 

                “Mike,” Gustavo said in a grave voice as soon as he walked through the door. He was standing in the middle of the room but made his way to Mike to take the older man into an embrace. Gus clapped him twice on the back before grabbing him at the shoulders and pushing him back. “It is very good to see you. I was incredibly fortunate to have you with me there. I am forever grateful for this. We are lucky to be alive.”

 

                “Yeah, I’m hearing that a lot,” Mike drawled, “but I somehow doubt it was all down to luck.” He winced as he reached for the bandage under his shirt. “You took a hell of a risk, but that was one clever move. And it paid off.”

                Gus stepped back and pulled out the seat in front of his desk. “Please. Sit down. You must be exhausted.” He moved around to his chair and sat across from Mike, his hands folded on his desk. “I want you to have a full recovery. I will give you some time off, to make sure you are following Dr. Goodman’s orders, but there are just a few things I could use your help with, first.”

 

                Mike sighed with some annoyance. “Look. Gus. Don’t you worry about putting me on light duty. I told you I’m fine. We still have some fallout to deal with here, and I want to make sure I’m where you need me to be. Schrader isn’t going to go away, and Walter’s been completely useless in curtailing the man’s snooping, so whatever course of action you want to take, I’m ready to handle it. Just tell me what you need.”

Gus sat back in his chair, rocking it a few times as he studied Mike. When he leaned back to the desk, he seemed resolute, knocking his knuckles to the wood. “It … remains to be seen what will happen with Schrader. We cannot get him to now, but they won’t have guards on him forever. They have found nothing so far; this investigation will dry up very quickly. I have invited George Merkert and his wife to dinner next week. He accepted, so I take that as a good sign.”

 

                “What guards? Why are there guards watching Schrader?”

                Gus took a sharp breath, closed his eyes for a moment. “This was all Walter’s design. He brought his brother-in-law by Brillante under the man’s insistence, but then created an accident to halt things. We … made a show, took Walter out to the desert. I fired him, told him to stay away from Pinkman, but that the agent would need to be dealt with. There … were … threats. Walter responded by making an anonymous call to the DEA, warned them that the cartel was on their way to hit Schrader for the Salamanca mess. He is under their protection at the moment, but nothing will happen, of course, and the SAC will have to call them off.”

 

                “And you’re okay with this? Seems to me, the first thing Schrader’s going to want to do is find some way to finagle a sweep of the laundry. With a death threat over his head, they’re probably going to listen to the request.”

 

                “He already sent someone there. Dennis handled it. They found nothing.”

 

                Mike plopped his hands on top of his gut, uttering another dissatisfied sigh. “Well, you know what I’m going to say, boss. The man needs to be handled. Both of them do. I don’t think we can wait for the feds to step down. A lot can happen between now and then. Schrader’s suddenly interesting – he’s like the girl in the movie that just took off her glasses and now everyone realizes she’s pretty. He’s going to have some clout while they’re watching over him.”

 

                “I am … looking into my options,” Gus said.

“And? It seems to me that the most likely one is also going to be the most effective.”

 

                Gus turned to stare at his laptop. “There are other factors at stake. I can’t get rid of Walter right now. And Schrader … he might prove to be useful in the future.”

 

                At this point, Mike’s interest had gone beyond merely curious to paramount. “You can’t get rid of Walter? And why’s that? Is Jesse objecting?”

 

                Gus’s features were a tight mask as he turned back to Mike. “Pinkman and I have an arrangement. He will cook for me as long as Walter is unharmed. For the time being, my hands are tied.”

                “Huh. Can’t say I didn’t see that coming.” He’d catalogued the bruises on Jesse’s face as they’d sat on the plane, visualizing the altercation in his mind and hoping that Jesse had given as good, or better, as he got. Gus’s plan had worked, but the particulars of the fight were still a mystery. Perhaps the bloom was finally off the rose and Jesse could now step away from the man. Mike leaned forward in his chair, wincing again at the stab of pain in the side of his chest. “Look, let me work with the kid some more. He showed a lot of moxie down in Juarez. He gets it, knows what we’re up against. We keep him away from Walter for a bit, the kid just might come around.”

“I am already working with Pinkman,” Gus said quickly. “There is … an opportunity here. He can do more for us than just cook. He can be trained. Molded.” Gus opened his mouth to say more but stopped, glancing back to the laptop’s screen.

 

                While there was some truth to what he said, the choice of words bothered Mike. Jesse wasn’t the type to fit in a mould. “Well, that would be fine, but we’ve still got to worry about Walter. We know the man has some … pull with Pinkman. You know he’s going to be looking for an opening, waiting to take a shot at you, or one of our guys. And Jesse is not immune to Walter’s charms, just yet. Although I think a strong case can be made that a divorce is on the horizon.”

 

                “This is why I need you today. Tyrus … you are not finished training him. There are things I need done and currently, you are the only one with the skills to do it. I want more surveillance on Pinkman. I can’t keep Tyrus there every night waiting to see if Walter will show up. This will be an ideal time for you to show him how to … set some ears on the house.”

A twitch pulled at Mike’s eye, a prickly heat creeping along the back of his neck. “You want him bugged? I thought we just established that the kid did good.”

 

                Gus met his stare. “It is not the boy I am worried about. It is Walter. As you said, on his own, he’s not about to leave Pinkman alone, even with threats. He thinks he can outsmart us. We can’t be everywhere at once, however, and there is too much at stake. I will need Walter’s house hooked up, as well. Now is the best time to hit, while the family is holed up at the agent’s place.”

 

                “So, you want the usual spots? Kitchen? Dining room?”

 

                “Yes. But I need more at Pinkman’s. As many rooms as you can, upstairs and downstairs.” He paused for a moment, flattened his tie as he pondered his next sentence. “Also … I need a camera. In the bedroom.” He tapped at the keyboard of his laptop, his expression schooled into blankness. “I need it hooked up to this feed.”

 

                The request was met with silence. The tickle on Mike’s neck started to burn.

“You think Walt is going to have a conversation with the kid in his bedroom?” Mike asked carefully.

 

                “No, not Walter. The boy is seeing someone.” Gus leveled his gaze back towards Mike, his eyebrows arched above the rims of his glasses. “A young mother. She brings her son there for visits. The girl is … she is the sister of the boy my men killed. The one that began all of this mess.”

 

                “Huh,” was all Mike could say.

                “I would have had this taken care of already – not disturbed you with such a matter, but … as I said, your training with Tyrus is not complete.” Gus crooked the side of his mouth, giving Mike a wistful half smile. “Mike. Victor is gone. I know you had a fondness for him, but it is time to move on. Tyrus is a good replacement, a good man. Please make sure that you give him more of your attention these next few weeks.”

 

                Mike nodded once. “Consider it done, boss. We’ll go by when the kid’s in the lab tomorrow.”

 

                Gus nodded back, the smile a tight seam. “Good. Now, I need you to take care of something else before then ….”

 

*******

__

He heard the loud crunch of the rubber bins stacked on each other when he walked in, the ping from the scale echoing around the walls. Mike never thought he would be happy to be back in the lab, but the immediate sense of relief as he stepped across the catwalk and cautiously wound his way down the stairs had everything to do with the person making the clatter down below. When he caught sight of Jesse standing at the weigh table, dangling white strands from the buds in his ears letting Mike know that the kid hadn’t heard their arrival, he felt a pang in his side where the bullet had exited, feeling a sharp wave of guilt pass over him.

 

                Mike had already taken Tyrus by the kid’s house. He kept telling himself that it was for the kid’s own good – that Walter was a snake that couldn’t be trusted, especially left to his own devices – but there was something distressing about the whole deal that didn’t sit well with him. Jesse deserved better. But then Mike had stood in the kid’s room, now cleaned up and tidy, the entire house refreshed by several coats of white paint, and he had wondered what would happen when the kid started to use again. That perhaps the kid needed to be monitored for his own protection. And he had let that belief tide him over as he’d instructed Tyrus where to drill and how to insert the delicate equipment.

 

                But the camera still stuck in his craw.

   Victor had been a good kid. He had been loyal and hard working, and Mike got along with him well, an unspoken understanding developing between the two men from the very beginning. But Mike had realized at a certain point that Victor was a boy that was smitten. That he’d been a little too taken with their boss. And Mike also knew that Gus had taken advantage of that adoration on occasion. It was a dawning that came slowly – Mike hadn’t even been looking for it – but when it soon became clear, Mike had felt thrown for the first time in years. It wasn’t his business, however, and they were consenting adults. He’d kept his nose out of it, said nothing to his charge. And then Gus had sliced Victor’s throat.

 

                “Hey, kid!” he shouted to Jesse, who looked up in surprise. “You think you could give us a moment of your time?”

 

                Instantly, Jesse pulled out the buds and came hustling around the handtruck of bins, a jubilant grin spreading across his face. He came running up to Mike and the men who stood behind him.

                “Mike! Like, when did you get back? Holy shit, you old son of a bitch, how the hell are you doin’?” Jesse bounced on his feet, slapped at Mike's bicep, the features of his face changing every second with degrees of his excitement. He looked as if he wanted to hug Mike but held himself back by grabbing on to his arms, and Mike stuck out his hand as a way to get the kid to settle down. Jesse took the hand gladly, shook it vigorously with another beaming smile.

 

                “Good to see you, too, kid. You’ll discover that not much can keep me down. I won’t be cutting a tango anytime soon, but I’m alright.”

 

                “Well, _great_. Seriously, Mike. That’s … that’s awesome. I was … like, I was really worried about you. I mean, you don’t … like, you have no _idea_ how glad I am that you’re back.” And the kid looked it, too, his eyes glistening as a moment of relief passed into his expression.

 

                Mike sighed heavily, giving the kid a weary smile. “Aww, Jesse. What am I gonna do with you?”

Jesse quickly turned concerned. “Why? What do you mean?” He finally looked at the assembled guys standing behind Mike. “What’s up? What’s with the posse?”

 

                He jagged a thumb over his shoulder, checking off each of the Hispanic gentlemen he’d employed. “Jesse, this here is Huey, Louie, and Dewey. Or whatever you want to call them. I’ll leave it to you. But they don’t need to know anything other than the job they were hired for. And you’re going to show them.”

 

                “Huh? Show them what?”

                Mike pointed down the row of tanks, the power washer already pulled to the aisle with its hose stretched along the floor. Jesse had already extracted the skeletal turbine of the mixing vat and it sat on the floor in between two tanks waiting to be scrubbed clean.

 

                “They’re here to clean the equipment. The value of your time has suddenly gained interest. Gus wants to make sure it’s spent on production, not on maintenance. So, today, you’re going to show these gentlemen what to do, and from here on out, the cleaning schedule will happen on weekends. You won’t have to worry about it again.”

 

                “Seriously?” Jesse’s disbelief bordered on the comical, his eyes widened with exaggeration.

 

                “Yup. You’re the big man, now. Welcome to management.” He turned to direct the men past the tanks. “Gentlemen, you’ll find work scrubs at the other end. Get dressed and give this man your undivided attention. You’ll be expected to do this on your own next week.”

The men bustled off to the change station where the slick rubber suits hung from their pegs. Jesse began to fidget in agitation, casting his eyes to the ground.

 

                “This came down from Gus?” he asked, his tone unsure.

 

                “Yes, sir. Looks like the boss was impressed with your little tutorial in the cartel lab.” Jesse didn’t appear happy about the commendation. “That okay with you?”

 

                Jesse glanced up quickly, turned to avoid Mike’s eyes. “Yeah, fine. I mean, whatever, one less thing to do, right? I just … you know, how come he didn’t hire these guys before?”

                “You’d have to ask him,” Mike replied, studying the way Jesse picked at his nails as he kept his head down.

 

                “Um, say, Mike. You, uh … you wanna get together when I’m done?” He finally looked Mike fully in the face, his expression hopeful. “You know, grab a coffee or dinner or something. You can tell me how things went. Your, uh, stay down there, I mean. If – if you’re up for it, that is.”

 

                There was something imploring in the kid’s eyes. A need that stretched from him like branches from a tree, leaves flittering nervously in the breeze dappled by sunlight. Mike could see already that something was bothering the kid, expected it had to do with Walter, but no longer so sure. It had been hard enough waiting for Jesse to leave for work before he and Tyrus had slipped into the house, and Mike didn’t think he could handle looking into Jesse’s face over coffee knowing that the kid would be going live as soon as he got back home. He didn’t want Walter to screw things up for the boy, but he wanted Jesse screwing things up even less.

“I’m going to have to take a raincheck on that,” he said regretfully. “Sorry, kid, but I’m still not 100%. I’ll be doing better in a few days, though. How about we meet up later in the week?”

 

                Jesse nodded encouragingly, his mouth downturned. “Yeah, sure. No worries, man. Whenever you’re ready. Just, uh, text me when you can.”

 

                Mike turned to go, worried that he was leaving the kid in a bind and paused. “Just give me till Wednesday, okay? I’ll meet you at Loyola’s after work. Around six. Sound good?”

 

                His face brightened a bit. “Yeah. Yeah, Mike, that would be really good. I’ll look forward to it.”

                When Mike made it back up to the catwalk, he clutched his side again, ready for some time alone on his lounger with a good Ford movie on his television. He heard Jesse begin his speech with the workers. “Okay, listen up. This is a lot of equipment, and these are pretty big tanks. But we need to get every inch of them clean, understand? First up, though, we’re gonna talk about safety …”

 

                Mike smiled as he opened the door and made his way out. The kid would be alright.

_  
_

                        

 

               

 


	12. The Grill

 

_YOU LYING LITTLE SHIT! You had one thing to do, one thing! That is the only thing, I might add, that would save our lives. And you were right there. You were in the house and you didn't have the guts to do it!_

               

                 Jesse lay in bed propped up on doubled pillows, his hand resting above his head as his cigarette wrote lazy smoke rings towards the ceiling. Andrea was curled towards the edge of the bed, her back to him, and he listened to her slow breaths feeling almost tranquil as his thoughts revolved around his evening with her. He glanced up at the headboard where her wrist was still strung by his tie, looped through the leather cuff she had brought with her, and contemplated its significance. She had asked him to leave it on when they were finally done and he had stayed awake to watch her fall asleep, marveling at the way she simply dozed off with her arm hanging above her head as if it were all perfectly natural.

 

                That had only been a few hours ago, but Jesse couldn’t close his eyes even with the equanimity that had settled through him. He felt somewhat guilty for keeping Andrea up for most of the night, yet thrilled that he’d had her all to himself. She’d left Brock with her grandmother after he had begged her to come over knowing he had to contend with Gus the next evening, and Jesse had given her whatever she asked for, keeping her in a heightened state for as long as he could while he took her in whichever way occurred to his porn-educated mind. He was shoring up his senses, stockpiling every orgasm given and received over the course of the night as a means to ward off Gus’s coming attack.

 

                For he was absolutely certain that Gus would make the next visit more difficult – and just a little more terrifying – but Jesse’s dread had become dulled by the inevitability of it all. There wasn’t a whole lot he could do about it other than to shoulder through and try to give Gus what he wanted. That, or kill the guy, and Jesse wasn’t quite ready for that yet. It had been less than a month since Gale and he had already shot two people. His list of murderous acts now had an inventory, a detail that he couldn’t seem to shake. Instead, the current plan for the evening was to do whatever it took to avoid another whipping, the indignity of the last punishment still smarting almost a week later. He took another drag off his cigarette and glanced down to Andrea’s back, reaching over to slide the sheets down from her hip. Inspecting her backside, Jesse was full of wonder at the way her skin practically pulsed with the fiery imprints of his fingers, the red streaks still so vivid.

 

                Yet spanking her had been a wholly intimate act, nothing humiliating about it. His hand remained the slightest bit sore, but he smiled at the remembrance, picturing the way she had stretched towards him like a cat, her ass high in the air and her moans filled with need as he’d smacked her harder and faster until they’d both been breathing heavy, the two of them growing more excited with each passing minute. He had burrowed his nose into her hair, whispered into her ear all the things he was going to do to her, purred that she was his bad little girl and he was going to make her good again. Andrea had started spouting things in Spanish, her eyes closed, calling him _mi cielo_ the more he spoke to her in guttural promises, and by the time he had glued himself to her back, burning hands gripping her breasts and his cock buried deep inside her, she was almost there, shouting his name as he pummeled her, the heat from her bottom warming his pelvic belt with every thrust.

 

                It had been kind of perfect.

 

                Restraining her had been easier this time. He was fascinated by her reactions to the bondage now that he understood its meaning for her and she’d been a curious subject for him to study. She had enticed him with her whispers, all the while telling him what she enjoyed, what he was doing right, and he reveled in her approval. His life had felt so tumultuous and out of his control for so long, and yet here was this person handing him the reins, letting him be the one to take charge, and Jesse had been overwhelmed by the strength that had surged through him, the eroticism and power of the moment giving him a euphoric lift. He had wanted to sustain that feeling for as long as possible, slowing them down at points so he wouldn’t come too often.

 

                And there had been something so joyous about the whole endeavor, Andrea’s responses both generous and sweet. As the late night turned to the early hours of morn, she had finally begged off with a laugh, admitting that he’d wiped her out, yet there was nothing but tenderness in the way that she looked at him. Jesse felt like he was floating over her, like an explosion of stardust, and his face had started to ache with the constancy of his grin.

 

                That was hardly going to be his experience with Gus, however.

 

                He doubted he would ever get used to the fear, but that wasn’t even the worst thing about the encounters. Knowing he was destined to have more climaxes under the man’s hand depressed the hell out of him. Jesse could fuck Andrea all the way up to the very minute that he’d have to step to Gus’s door, but that wouldn’t change the fact that the sex was different, and he knew it. It was like Gus was pulling something out of him that he didn’t want to see, a sense of himself that he was only just starting to recognize. The rest of the week, the nights he’d spent alone, he’d awakened in the dark with a throbbing erection, the feel of someone’s touch ghosting across his body, and he had jerked off in a frenzied haze, his groans carrying through the whole house. The third time it had happened, Jesse had stuck fingers in his mouth and slicked them off, twisted them into his ass while he stroked himself in long, luxurious sweeps, his cock as hard as he’d ever felt it. And yet every release had left him feeling empty and unfulfilled, his body crying out for something more.

 

                At the time he’d given his decision to Gus, Jesse had naively believed that he could remain pragmatic about the sex, that it would be a deed he could put up with for a twenty four hour period and find a way to make work. There had been enough tweaked-out conversations with Wendy for him to assume the idea that it was merely a matter of focus. Putting one’s nose to the grindstone and getting the job done. Taking emotion out of it and keeping it impersonal. He thought he could deal with that. But he hadn’t been prepared for the way Gus would make his body feel invaded, overrun, and otherwise flooded with endorphins, like he’d been holding up a gauze curtain as a blockade to an oncoming semi.

 

                Talking to Mike hadn’t been as gainful as he’d hoped. When it got right down to it, Jesse was too chicken shit to even ask about Gus, feeling like Mike would see right through him, imagined that he would give away in a heartbeat that Gus was bending him over and ramming him pretty solidly the minute he said the man’s name. So the chat had mostly been relegated to Mike commending him for the job in Mexico and warning him against Walter. Jesse had felt his cheeks grow hot thinking about Mr. White parked outside of Gus’s house like an idiot, then stupidly following him in the car. He wondered if he should make the effort to notify his partner, at least – send him a text that Mike was back in town and to keep the hell away from him. But he worried that Walter would only see it as an invitation.

 

                Still, it had been good just to sit in Mike’s presence, the man’s imperturbable nature and solidity lately a calming influence on Jesse. He had broached the topic of Gus once, to gauge if he was likely to go back on his word, but Mike seemed to think only the best of the man. Jesse didn’t know if that was a comfort or not. While he would rather die in a greasefire before divulging the details of his arrangement with Gus to anyone, his curiosity had him imagining Mike’s likely reaction if he ever found out. Would he think less of his boss or of Jesse?

 

                He pulled the sheet back over Andrea’s sleeping form, deciding to give her another fifteen minutes before he woke her up. Work would be over before he knew it, and so he wished for time to slow down, for each minute to drag on for a lifetime before he would invariably have to get out of bed. He inhaled the smoke from his cigarette, relishing the burn, and pictured his every morning waking up next to her, hearing Brock run around his house as he got ready for school. He saw the inside of Mr. White’s house in his mind, recalled how warm and lived in it felt, how the drawings of Walt’s family on the walls had made him feel lonely and small. Jesse tilted his head back to study the ceiling. He couldn’t do this forever. He didn’t want to be continually living on the outside of life, he wanted to matter to someone, wanted to make someone happy. Was that even a possibility for a killer? Walter had somehow managed it.

 

Three months was what Gus had asked for. Jesse thought about the raise to his salary and what that entailed. Three months. That wasn’t a long time. Maybe he could wait on the ricin until he got paid a few million. He could finally leave the business, take Andrea and Brock with him and start over somewhere else. Killing Gus was still a risk with Mike around, regardless of what Walter said. He needed some time to figure things out. Figure out what to do with Gus, with Mr. White, with Andrea, with everything.

 

                Jesse stamped out his cigarette in the ashtray and turned to his sleeping companion, curling his body around hers as he urged away the dawn.

 

 

******

 

 

                The door was unlocked for him again. He slipped into the house, the inside as still and vacuous as before. Gus had already sent him a message requesting that he come straight from work. Jesse assumed that meant he was in for another bath. He removed his shoes and socks again and made his way soundlessly up the stairs.

 

                He dropped his jacket to the floor halfway to Gus’s room then began unbuttoning his shirt. Once he got to the doorway, he quickly pulled it down at the back, shaking the shirt free from his arms. It also was dropped to the floor as he moved straight to undoing his fly without so much as a glance in the room. The jeans came down. He had gone commando this time, not wishing to displease Gus with the wrong style of underwear. The guy was pretty particular about his briefs. He was feeling a little ripe because of it, thinking that a bubble bath might not be so bad at the moment.

 

                Jesse stepped into the bedroom, already putting his hands behind his head, but before he had taken two steps he froze in surprise, just shy of a gasp.

 

                Gus sat on the bed staring at the floor, a figure of stone. He was dressed in full uniform. It was a fancy one, at that – the coat a slate color with yellow piping for the trim, a bright red emblem on the cap. The familiar tonfa baton lay across his lap, Gus’s grip around the short handle that sprouted perpendicular to the shaft. Jesse recognized the style from old martial arts weapons magazines he used to read when he was working on his blue belt. It made him nervous just looking at it, but the entire get-up had him positively anxious.

 

                “Uh, we going to a Halloween party you forgot to mention?”

 

                Gus finally turned to look at him, waved his hand to the floor. “Please. Get in position.”

 

                Jesse got to his knees as directed, his forehead taut with concern. This was creepy. “Seriously, what’s with the outfit?” he tried again.

 

                “I was a lieutenant,” Gus answered, his tone matter-of-fact. “I told you, I was in the military before I left my country.” He brushed across the bar by his lapel, smoothed his hand over the tops of his legs. “This isn’t the real thing, of course. I had to leave it behind. But I had a likeness made a while back. A remembrance of my formative years.”

 

                “O-kay. Any particular reason you’re wearing it right now?”

 

                “Because it is a great reminder of how important it is to stay disciplined. To respect its parameters. It is something that you need to understand, Jesse. It is fundamental to any kind of structure. We cannot thrive in chaos. We need to have order to create momentum.”

 

                The answer did nothing to quell the rising paranoia sprouting like feathers from his back.

 

                “So, what? We’re gonna role play, now? Gee, I wonder who I get to be.”

 

                Gus stuck out the baton, brought it up to Jesse’s chin. “Come closer. I want you in front of me.”

 

                As soon as he sidled over, Gus put the truncheon down and grabbed the sides of Jesse’s face, pulling him near to his own. Jesse felt another surge of fear swamp his belly, his body rigid as Gus gazed right into him. “I have chosen _you_ , Jesse. I did not ask this of you simply on a whim. It has been a very long while since I’ve felt anyone was worth my time. I believe in you.”

 

                Jesse swallowed hard, his eyes feeling huge. Gus’s intensity was terrifying even when he was being complimentary. He didn’t know what to say in response, afraid to come off as rude. Gus loosened his grip, ran a few fingers lightly across Jesse’s cheek and down to his jaw.

 

                “I was angry with you last time for being flippant with my request. It made me … careless. I have not had to take care of someone since … since Max. There were … others over the years. No one serious. A few pet projects, perhaps. A man has needs. But none that I felt anything for.” Gus’s finger stroked down Jesse’s neck, nestled in the U-bone of his clavicle before running a straight line down to the trickle of hair just below his belly button. “I desire you,” he said with a heavy import. He stared into Jesse’s eyes as if he were about to leap inside of them. “I want to teach you things.”

 

                “Like, what sort of things?” Jesse dared to ask. _Gay things,_ his inner voice suggested.

 

                “When I was a teenager in Santiago, General Pinochet ousted President Allende in a military coup. There was a march on the city to clear all of the old cabinet officials and the Socialist sympathizers, especially the leaders of the Popular Unity Party. Pinochet despised them, felt they had ruined the country, but so did many of us, it was a common thread among the families we knew. They called it _Caravana de la muerte_ – the Caravan of Death. Almost a hundred of them were butchered over several days. My father helped oversee the attacks. He and the leader of the march, General Arellano Stark, were good friends, they worked together many years. Arellano was also instrumental in the roundup of students and activists that were herded into the great football stadium. Over ten thousand of them, hundreds murdered within the week. But the rest … the rest were held in custody and interrogated. It took a long time to ... _process_ them. And an organization was born.”

 

                A chill ran through Jesse, starting in his spine, gooseflesh dimpling across his arms as he held his elbows up high. He did not like where this was going.

 

                “I was still in the academy, but I wanted to be part of the action, wanted to march in the streets with Pinochet’s men, with their shiny boots and perfect formations. When my father was appointed head of the DINA, I begged him to let me join. But I had to learn my place. I had to start in a small role. But I listened. I listened to everyone who had more power than me. And I learned to tell the difference between the men following orders and the men who were making the decisions. Very soon I had caught the attention of the Lieutenant Col. – Pinochet’s right hand, Manuel Contreras Sepulveda. He became my mentor for many years, brought me into his General Command by the time I was twenty-one. This was a very tight knit group, very selective, and it made you someone out in the street. People gave you instant respect. But the Lieutenant Col. taught me many things. Not just how to handle the traitors, but how to carry yourself, how to show the others that you were a man of character, of strength.”

 

                Gus put his hands on either side of Jesse’s shoulders, a confident smile at his lips. “He picked me as his student because he had seen a spark in me as well. He knew that I desired success as my own man, not as an extension of my father, and he understood what I needed, engineered opportunities for me as the new government settled in. Eventually, I was sent all over the country, had a hand in dozens of operations before I left. Without him, I would not be the man I am today.”

 

                “Did you have to fuck him?” Jesse asked in a dull voice.

 

                Gus shrugged casually. “Men of power always expect payment for their favor. I was … different, exotic. He already knew that I preferred men. There was an understanding from the beginning.”

 

                “And these, uh, interrogations … is that what you did? _Interrogate_ people?”

 

                “Yes. For many years. It was the main reason for the National Intelligence Directorate to be formed. But once Pinochet’s government was in place, out of the ashes of DINA and the Joint Command came the official version, the CNI, which is when I became a member. This was my job.”

 

                Jesse glanced at the baton on Gus’s lap, the object’s malevolence suddenly twofold. “And when you interrogated these _traitors_ … did that happen to involve beating the shit out of them?”

 

                “If necessary,” Gus answered calmly.

 

                Jesse’s heart beat faster, the chill on his skin turning clammy. “So … you _tortured_ them, in other words. You _tortured_ people for your government. Is that what you’re telling me here?” he asked, his voice growing shakier as it rose in volume.

 

                “I am _explaining_ myself to you,” Gus said in his deadly baritone, his features grim. “Calm yourself.” He lifted the baton and propped it under Jesse’s chin again, making him tilt his head up. “I did what was needed. But I did not let it affect me. This is what you will learn.”

 

                Gus suddenly stood, peeling off the uniform’s coat and leaving it on the bed. He tapped Jesse’s shoulder and Jesse slowly got to his feet, feeling slightly sick. Gus jutted his chin towards the en suite. “It is time for your bath. I have it ready for you.”

 

                Jesse turned about face and strode to the bathroom in a daze, no longer having any idea what to expect for the rest of his weekend hanging out with a torturer, but he was suitably terrified. When he stood in front of the bathtub he could see steam rising off the water.

 

                “I have the heater on, so it will stay warm,” Gus said, and it took Jesse a few moments to realize he was talking about the bathwater. Gus was pulling something from the cabinet under the sink, a rubber pouch with a long tube attached. “But first we need to take care of you,” he announced.

 

                “What do you mean,” Jesse asked guardedly. “What the hell is that?” The tube had a nozzle on the end that did not look especially innocent.

 

                Gus’s ring clunked on top of the sink a few time as he tapped at the porcelain. “Put your weight here, and hold yourself over the basin,” he instructed as he turned the faucet on, slipping the pouch underneath after testing the temperature.

 

                “Yo, for what? What do you think you’re gonna do with that thing?”

 

                Gus’s expression stayed smooth. “We need to clean you out. Please. Over here. You’ll need to keep your legs spread.”

 

                “You _cannot_ be serious,” he said, his repugnance rolling over him with the realization of Gus’s intent.

 

                Gus offered one of his unnerving smiles as he screwed on the pouch’s seal. “I would prefer it if we started with this preparation from now on. I like to be thorough.”

 

                “Dude! I’m not going to stand here while you fucking douche me like I’m a fucking –!" Jesse had already had enough and he hadn't yet spent fifteen minutes in Gus's house. "Christ, just give me the damn thing and I’ll do it myself.” He wanted to flee, wanted to grab his lucky cigarette and shove it down Gus’s throat, but he held out his hand as if he could force Gus to give up the job by sheer will.

 

                Gus simply tapped at the sink again. “Please. Put your hands here.”

 

                He stood where he was for another minute, the two of them locked in a staring contest, Gus’s face a master of controlled stillness but his eyes shining. Jesse finally looked away, moved up to where Gus patiently waited and took hold of the basin’s edge, spreading his legs with an air of defeat.

 

 

*******

 

               

                The fluorescent lights behind the panels burned his eyes as Jesse stared at the ceiling of Gus’s kitchen with a building sense of the surreal. He was currently lying across Gus’s dinner table, his arms above his head and his wrists bound to something, probably the legs. He was scrubbed clean, both inside and out – he could smell the gel on his skin – and Gus had just finished inserting a metal ball into his rectum. The weighted ball was just half of an austere but menacing looking piece – Gus had explained it was of German design – the horseshoe rim on the end of its stem now snug around the erection Gus had just given him by running a tongue over his cock and sucking on his balls for the last several minutes. It had been cold and heavy as it was pressed inside him, slick with lube, but his body warmed it up quickly, leaving a dull thud inside of him as he spread his feet on the table’s edge. Jesse listened nervously as Gus moved around the kitchen opening and closing cupboards, dropping things on that little metal trolley. The sound of it rolling up to the side of his head, just out of his field of vision, evoked such a clinical setting – he felt as if he were about to undergo surgery – that his panic spiked again.

 

                “Uh, do you think you can maybe tell me what you’re planning, here? It would be kind of nice to know. I mean, this is a little fucking weird, right now.”

 

                “The beginning of a transformation,” was all Gus would say. It did nothing to calm his rattled nervous system, nor remove images of Gus as some kind of mad doctor.

 

                “I feel like a chick getting her lady parts checked out. I mean, what the hell, Gus, why not just get some stirrups next time, go all the way.”

 

                There was no reply. Jesse kept talking through his nerves. “Maybe we could, like, make it a game. You give me a single word that has some connection to whatever it is you’re about to do to me, and I see if I can guess it in three tries. What do you say?”

 

                “You will find out in a moment. Be patient.”

 

                “Be _patient_ ,” he echoed, his tone mocking. “Ah. Yeah, this set up just screams patience. Like, _hey_ , no big whoop, just hanging out on the kitchen table with my junk on display and a ball up my ass. Totally normal. Like, who doesn’t do that, right? Hell, let’s just invite all your neighbors over for cocktails and we’ll make it a party.”

 

                Finally, Gus came back into his sightline, his cap removed and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. He tipped a bottle of antiseptic into a paper towel then set the bottle on the trolley, pulling it closer as he sat down on Jesse’s left. The paper towel was rubbed across his chest, dabbed to his nipples. It was cold and Jesse hissed in a breath as he lifted his head to see what Gus was doing.

 

                “Um, what the fuck?” he uttered as he watched Gus pick up a black magic marker and lean over him, marking each side of the areola. “Hey! What the hell, man? I didn’t give permission for this. Yo, you never said nothing about piercings.”

 

                “Can we scale back on the commentary, please? I need to concentrate.”

 

                “Well, wait a minute! My nipples are still gonna be pierced once the twenty four hour thing is over, right? That’s not part of our agreement, man. I can’t be walking around like this. I’ll have to give an explanation to – to people. What am I supposed to say? You can’t just, like, decide to make changes to my body that other people are gonna see. This is totally not cool.”

 

                Gus was now wielding an instrument that looked like a cross between a pair of scissors and tongs, an eyelet at its bottom that split open to reveal two as Gus brought it down to clamp the pink nub of his chest. Jesse had seen one before, when he’d gone with Badger to the tattoo parlor to watch him get a nipple ring on his left. His friend had been a total pussy about it, too. Jesse attempted to hold on to his indignation to ride through the upcoming pain, but just feeling the clamp pull at his skin made the ball in his ass throb heavier. His prick remained hard, of course.

 

                “This shit is so gay. My girl is gonna be asking questions now. Thanks for making me look like an asshole.”

 

                “And yet I somehow imagine she will not object,” Gus said, right before he started poking a very long needle through one side of the hole. Jesse’s teeth ground together as he tipped his head back, the pain sharp enough to make his eyes water. But he refused to make a sound through his discomfort, his body tense while Gus played around with a pair of pliers. The tightness pulsed in his chest, making him dizzy for a moment as he stared unblinking into the lights again, seeing a negative of the white tubes underneath the panes as his vision doubled. He could feel Gus screwing on the end of the barbell as he finished, some feeling coming back to the abused flesh once Gus pulled the clamp free.

 

                Jesse let out a long breath. “You don’t know anything about her,” he said, his voice gravelly. Gus stood up, pushed his cart around Jesse’s head until he was on the other side of him. He pulled out the other chair to sit down, looking decidedly too eager to start the process over again. “I’m taking these out as soon as I leave,” Jesse threatened.

 

                “As long as they are back in when you return,” Gus responded smoothly, his attention on his work.

 

                The right nipple wasn’t as painful, perhaps because the rest of his body was already throbbing in doubled time, the sound of it in his head like a horse's gallop on hard earth, but once Gus had completed the ritual, Jesse started to squirm on the table, his arms aching and ready to be set free. He’d dropped his feet off the edge, banging his heels against the legs.

 

                “Alright, you had your fun. Now can I get up? And excuse me, but next time you do something like that you could at least numb the area with some ice or some shit. Like, you got any frozen peas?” He wanted everything to feel numb.

 

                But Gus wasn’t clearing anything away. Instead, he was pulling up a chair between Jesse’s legs, wrapping hands around his shins and placing his feet back on the tabletop. Gus reached over to his rolling tray and picked up another leather band, swiftly snapped it around Jesse’s ankle. Instantly, Jesse’s paranoia reared up and he jerked his wrists downward, the table shuddering under them both.

 

                “Hey! Hey, what are you doing, Gus?” Gus snapped a bind to his other ankle, bringing his leg down at an angle awkwardly so that he was spread wide. He locked Jesse to the table leg. “Gus! I’m serious, what the _fuck_ are you doing?” His concern was rapidly turning into a full-blown panic attack.

 

                Gus stopped for a moment and eyed Jesse calmly. “We are not finished. The top was nothing. This is where the real art lies.” He pulled down Jesse’s other leg until Jesse heard a click and then he could no longer move, the muscles in his thighs feeling a sharp stretch as Gus pushed out his knees. His cock lay stiff against his belly, the pinch at the base of it reminding him that it was likely to stay this way for a while. He envisioned the needle again and rode a wave of nausea.

 

                “Oh my god, _oh my god._ Time the _fuck out_. I am not letting you poke that shit into my dick, Gus! No way!”

 

                He was met with a glare. “Silence. You are getting worked up over nothing. This is what I want to see while you are here with me. Mind and _body_. It was agreed. You will simply have to deal with this.”

 

                “Deal with you sticking a big ass needle through the head of my cock? I don’t think so. You need to tell me what you’re planning on doing right now, man, or I will _freak out._ I am dead serious. I will lose my shit.”

 

                Gus finally looked annoyed. “I like the ritual of it. All of this will be decorated, not just the glans.” He pressed down on Jesse’s scrotum. “Here, and along here,” he said as he ran a finger along the underside of his cock, from the frenulum down to his ballsac. Gus gently slid a thumb across the head. “It can take quite a bit of silver.”

 

                “Yo, you ain’t trimming a Christmas tree, we’re talking about my dick, here!” Another sick wave traveled through him and Jesse started to feel hysterical, the idea of Gus marking him as his own a cruel and twisted joke.

               

                “This is going to happen,” Gus told him sternly.

 

                “No! This is bull _shit._ I don’t care what you said, I didn’t sign up for this! I’m already letting you fuck me and stick whatever you want in me, you don’t get to fucking _decorate_ me, too!” He was close to tears, the sheer effrontery of it all welling up his hatred so profoundly that his throat had diminished to the size of a pea and Jesse struggled to breathe.

 

                The silence in the room held the aftershocks of his shouting as Gus stared him down. But he didn’t care if Gus beat him again, he would not give in. Jesse locked eyes with Gus, jutted out his bottom teeth as he clenched his jaw tightly. After a long moment, Gus stood up, walked to the refrigerator and pulled a water bottle from inside the door. He came back to the table in that slow, plodding gait, uncapped the top and took a long, leisurely sip. Then he tipped the bottle over, dumping the cold water on Jesse’s face. Jesse spluttered and spit as he tossed his head from side to side, sucking in a painful, wet gulp of air as the chill hit him, while Gus guided the last of the water to run down Jesse’s chest and belly. He dropped the bottle to the floor when it was emptied and Jesse heard the sizzling sound of water splashing on tile as it ran off the sides of the table.

 

                A coughing fit hit him, fluid in his nose and his lungs burning. Gus waited until he had quieted down before placing his palm to Jesse’s chest.

 

                “You _will_ listen to me,” he said, his expression fierce. He moved to the counter, out of Jesse’s sight for a moment, but when he came back to his side, Gus had on his lieutenant’s cap and a dish towel in his hand. “You asked if we tortured the prisoners,” he began as he mopped up the table. “And while this was expected, there were many different methods that were employed over the course of a prisoners’ stay, the severity of which depended on how forthcoming they were with information. But there was a favorite one among us. Even Contreras swore by it, using it almost exclusively. We called it _la parrilla._ Do you know what this is?” Gus asked him, eyes wide. Jesse shook his head, suddenly afraid to speak.

 

                “This means ‘ _the grill’_. Like a barbeque grill, what you would cook on. But in the cells, the grill was the rack the men were laid on – the metal frame of a cot that had been stripped of its mattress. And the sizzle of burning meat came from the electric current that was fed into their bodies. Sometimes for hours.”

 

                Gus gripped the bottom of Jesse’s chin, ran an open palm down his neck until it caressed down to his chest. He flicked at one of the newly entered metal barbells and Jesse flinched from the motion, his fear escalating.

 

                “It came from a simple control box which was plugged into an outlet on the wall. Long wires ran from the other side, and at the end of the wires were small electrodes, like you would see in a hospital.” Gus laid a heavy hand on Jesse’s stomach. “These electrodes would be placed on the most sensitive areas of the prisoners. Such as here,” Gus slid his hand down to Jesse’s stiffened prick, two fingers pressing to his scrotum. “This was a good place to hit. Enough of a charge here and men would cry like a child, piss all over themselves. They would give up members of their own family, sons and daughters, to stop the pain.”

 

                He cupped a hand under Jesse’s cock, securing both testicles, and Jesse jerked his body tight as if he’d received an actual electrical shock. Gus ignored it, pinched another nipple cruelly until Jesse groaned in his throat.

 

                “There are many vulnerable spots on a man’s body. Many of them obvious, but some were a surprise. A prisoner’s eyelids were very effective,” he brushed a thumb over Jesse’s eye, “or on his tongue.” Gus brought the thumb down along Jesse’s nose, rubbed it over his mouth before pressing it between Jesse’s lips. Jesse dutifully opened them, allowed Gus to probe along his tongue feeling absolutely sick. “This would not only happen to the men. The women, too, would endure great pain on _la parrilla._ You can imagine where they would be shocked.” The hand that gripped Jesse’s genitals was removed and there was a quick tweak on the stem of his cock ring, the ball inside him being jerked forward. A moan escaped from around the thumb now obscenely pressed to the back of his throat.

 

                “And this patch especially could produce significant results,” Gus continued, rimming a finger around the metal rod that disappeared into his anus. Jesse tried in vain to close his legs, but they were still bound at the ankle, leaving him open for Gus’s inspection.

 

                “But most of the men did a poor job at this practice. They were too eager, wanted only to hit the same spots again and again until the subject would scream whatever we wanted to hear, but whether they were telling the truth was another matter. It wasn’t enough to simply inundate them with pain at different points of their bodies. Given the right mind, a man can adjust to a significant amount of trauma. There has to be a tolerance at first, a layer to build upon. Before the assault, there had to be … a seduction – the first stage of pain like a lover whispering, sinking the body into a receptive state. It took a delicate hand to get the right mixture. To make the current swim from one end to the other as if the electricity was a part of the bloodstream, was a part of them. I understood this.”

 

                The tips of Gus’s fingers dragged along the side of Jesse’s pelvis and torso while he spoke, traveling up to his nipple and then swooping across the top of his breastbone to come down along the other side of him. Jesse twisted his waist and hips in an attempt to pull away from Gus’s touch, his heart now pounding in his chest.

 

                “I would always begin with a very low voltage. Until the entire body would hum from it. The electrodes would be attached at both ends – perhaps the lip and the scrotum, maybe inside the ear and the arch of a foot. If the prisoner had been beaten, an open wound could be used. Find a way to get inside of them, to bypass the flesh. The increase in the charge would come incrementally, so that it was gradual and steady. Soon, it would start to feel different for them. There would be a sigh, the body would become less rigid.”

 

                Jesse couldn’t look away from Gus, felt trapped in his gaze. There was a hollow thud on his sternum as Gus drummed upon it.

 

                “There is a moment that happens – when the adrenaline is pumping through the heart and the body attempts to protect itself – that the pain can become pleasure. The body accepts. There is a sudden freedom that permeates the senses and sends the mind into another space. The prisoner gasps, gives in to it fully.” Gus bent down slowly, brought his face near Jesse’s until he could feel the man’s hot breaths on his cheek. He closed his eyes, tried to tune out the images in his head that Gus had created, but there was a rough lick to his face that spanned up to his eyelashes, Gus’s tongue leaving a wet trail across them.

 

                “And then,” he resumed, his voice low. “When they have finally accommodated this new feeling that is spreading through them, then _now –”_ Gus slapped his hands together loudly making Jesse jolt off the table, his eyes shooting open, “– is when I would turn the knob all the way up. The assault would be so penetrating, so inescapable, they couldn’t even scream. If I had given them the same full power to start, it would have killed them.”

 

                He heard himself moan, desperate for Gus to stop talking. But it continued, Jesse feeling more lightheaded the longer Gus went on.

 

                “To see a man or woman contort their body in such a way, as the current overwhelmed them, was a curious thing. The toes would curl in, the back would bow, the eyes would roll back. The smell of roasting flesh is not pleasant. They would lose control of their bowels and shit all over the metal bars. Even the guards and the officers would retch from the stink.”

 

                The towel that Gus had used to wipe up the water was now sodden. He dropped it on the tray behind him then pulled up a chair to sit by Jesse’s head.

 

                “The men had a name for me. I was called _Parrillero Jefe_ – because no one else could get the same results that I did. Sometimes, they simply addressed me as _el cocinero -_ the cook. But I preferred the other, because it commanded respect.”

 

                Gus had turned his head to stare indiscriminately at a spot on Jesse’s thigh, his expression troubled, but at least those eyes had finally ceased boring into his soul, which was a small relief. Gus frowned as he spoke. “I had extracted more confessions than anyone in my unit. But that was not always how it had been. The beginning had been quite different. Most of the young men that had been hand-picked by Contreras were right out of the academy. As was I. Contreras liked to be surrounded by young minds waiting to be shaped. But these men were not my brothers, even though I had gone to school with many of them.”

 

                “When I was eighteen, I thought I had fallen in love.” The speech’s sudden change in tack threw Jesse for a brief moment, and he lifted up his head to watch Gus’s face. “I had never felt it before,” he continued, looking as serious as Gus could ever be. “But it was just as Neruda had said, _as certain dark things are to be loved_ , _in secret, between the shadow and the soul_.” He turned back to Jesse. “Have you ever felt this for someone? Felt lost in that secret, wanting to keep them in a special place meant just for the two of you? It had a very strong hold on me at the time, and I made mistakes, was not careful enough.” Gus caressed Jesse’s hip, a small smile gracing his lips for just the tiniest second. Then his features turned hard. “But in a place like that, you make enemies over time, and there were plenty of ways to learn the other boys’ secrets. There were cadets who made it their mission to find ways to humiliate me, to make my life there difficult. Because of who I was. The black bastard of a powerful man." He shook his head angrily. "The boy and I were discovered by a prefect who disliked me, and the little _rata_ immediately reported us to the officers. The other boy was expelled, but for me … my father insisted I go back. And he had his way; the heads of the school made allowances, lessened the charge. But of course, the rest of the cadets had heard all about it and I was marked when I returned.”

 

                Gus smiled at Jesse. “It was the same at the Centro Nacional. Even before that, when we were helping to clean up the camps, there was a group of them that followed me around, looked for any opportunities to mess with my standing in the eyes of the officers. They complained that I put on airs I had no rights to. Back then, they would call me _Generalísimo Maricón_ behind the officers’ backs _._ Do you know this word?”

 

                Jesse nodded his head slowly. He knew what _maricón_ meant, the slur was a favorite of Combo’s. Jesse had even used it himself, on occasion, especially when he wanted to impress his Hispanic customers. Having multiple iterations of ' _faggot_ ' always came in handy.

 

                “Those boys became ruthless men. I knew that I would have to deal with all of them at a certain point. I had to be better than them. Do everything perfectly, as my superiors asked of me. No one could question my work. I did not let them drag me down into the dirt, but rose above them, until I was their commanding officer. My former classmates had to pay me their respect, but I had earned it. And soon I had them under my control.”

 

                Jesse gathered the saliva in his mouth and swallowed thickly, coating his throat so that he could speak.

 

                “What happened to those guys?” he asked with a sick fascination, his voice rough.

 

                Gus’s smile was chilling. “They are dead now.” Gus suddenly stood, trundling the tray back around to the edge between Jesse’s legs. “So we will stop this foolishness and you will let me get back to work,” he said. But Jesse’s fear had only galvanized him.

 

                “Wait! Gus … please, can you just wait a second?” he begged as Gus stilled before him. “I … I get it. I understand what you want, okay? But … this is still a lot to take in and – and I would _really, really_ appreciate it - God, if you could just … you know, give me a chance to prepare. And maybe we could, you know, do this … do this somewhere _professional._ I mean, I know some good places. If that’s what you want, then fine, I'll - I'll do it. But, like this, here in your kitchen … I’m just saying, if you could see your way to … letting me get ready for this. You know, like, mentally and all. I would be very grateful, Gus. Like, I would do _whatever_ you wanted. Just … if you could do this for me.” His voice hitched as he tried to get the last of his speech out. He was exhausted already and he could feel tears trickling slowly down the side of his temple. He needed some time. The vial of ricin was sitting in his pants in Gus’s room and Jesse understood with frightening clarity that he needed to use it sooner rather than later. Gus needed to get got.

 

                The man took a long, deep breath as he contemplated Jesse's plea, the gust of air from his exhale rolling across Jesse’s thighs. Jesse held himself tightly, prayed in his head for someone to listen, to change Gus’s mind so that he could plot his next move.

 

                “Alright,” Gus finally said. “We will do this next week. I know someone who does very fine work, even better than me. You are lucky that he is here in town.” He stroked his hand over Jesse’s unflagging erection. “I have other things for us today. This will give us an opportunity to get closer,” he said without a trace of sarcasm. In fact, he seemed downright earnest.

 

                “Thank you,” Jesse breathed. “Thank you, Gus. I … I …” The relief filled him so quickly he felt dizzy. Gus retrieved a chain from his bottom tray, pulled it to the end and then clipped it to the stem that ran from the ring into Jesse’s ass. Jesse felt a prickling sensation creep down the insides of his legs. “What are you doing now?” he asked.

 

                “No more questions,” Gus told him. He moved out of sight again as he rounded the table to the top of Jesse’s head. There was a loosening at his wrists, the binds unclasped, and Jesse pulled his arms into his chest painfully, the ache that ran through them growing in power as the blood flowed to new places.

 

                “Stand up,” Gus directed and Jesse moved as slow as molasses as he forced his body upright. Gus clipped the cuffs around his wrists together, clipped another chain to the metal ring in between them.

 

                When he was finally standing, Gus started to tug on the chains that were connected to him, leading him like a donkey. Jesse felt another wave of dizziness hit him, his sight cloudy for a moment before he righted himself, stepping quickly towards Gus as the pressure in his wrists and ass increased.

 

                “Come. We are going downstairs,” Gus explained, turning to face forward as he pulled Jesse along.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To help with the visual
> 
> http://33.media.tumblr.com/042395afd66e6052d14d0c4a659f3235/tumblr_mufzyuGl5Y1s4iwplo1_400.png
> 
> http://38.media.tumblr.com/c808b305ba22c1fe64890d815ec02727/tumblr_mh6whkJXbt1re9lwro1_1280.jpg
> 
> http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m6efdkKk5I1qf5vgc.png
> 
> http://i.vimeocdn.com/video/453650545_640.jpg
> 
> Never forget.  
> (stills from the movie Daydreamer)


	13. The Gym

 

 

 

_It’s awesome. Everything’s maximum interesting. You get these really cold and sharp-like action dagger feelings… it’s awesome. C’mon, what do you say?_

 

 

                Being pulled down the stairs by a lock in his asshole was not a particularly pleasant feeling for Jesse. The ball moved inside him as Gus tugged the chain and Jesse had to walk fast to keep from feeling like he was about to lay an egg. Just the motion of walking was awkward and he had to clench with every descent, yet his dick was hard enough that it bounced with each step. It was humiliating. He couldn’t even imagine what Gus was about to do to him next, didn’t _want_ to imagine.

 

                When the door to Gus’s basement gym was opened, Jesse sucked in a breath, still feeling wobbly and slightly vertiginous. The pain in his nipples was subsiding, but the reveal of Gus’s military exploits had him reeling in despair. How the hell was he supposed to take on a guy who regularly electrocuted people? It wasn’t just disturbing, it was overwhelming. And he had bought himself only a week to make something happen before he would get to experience the joy of having his dick and balls stuck like a pincushion, customized for Gus’s benefit as if his junk was merely a blank canvas waiting to be adorned.

 

                Gus opened the door and led Jesse inside, stopping to put his hand on the small of Jesse’s back as he guided him into the room. Right away, Jesse noticed the change in the assembly of equipment. The pull up bar had been dragged to the middle of the floor – Jesse could see its reflection front and center in the mirror – and the weight bench had been situated underneath it. The composition didn’t look reassuring, and yet somehow, Jesse didn’t really believe that Gus had brought him in here for a bout of exercise.

 

                “What’s with the set-up?” he croaked, wishing he had a cigarette in his mouth.

 

                “You will find out in a moment,” Gus answered brusquely. He brought Jesse to the front of the bench, made him sit down with that thing still lodged in him. It was Gus who got to his knees this time, but as soon as he brought up a leather belt from his pile on the floor, Jesse felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. He didn’t think he could handle another whipping at the moment. He didn’t even have the strength to argue about it, keeping mum as he watched Gus bring it up to his lap with dread.

 

                “Lift this for me,” Gus instructed, indicating he wanted Jesse to pull his leg up, with his foot on the bench. He did as was asked and immediately Gus set to work looping the belt between his thigh and his knee and cinching it with the buckle. Another chain rattled and was pulled into view, Gus adeptly sliding it under the leather and clasping it back to its links. He seemed to have dozens of those, and Jesse imagined Gus had gotten a really great discount at Home Depot or someplace.

 

                But when Gus ran the chain up to the bar and wrapped it around the metal, Jesse’s uneasiness turned to shock as his bent leg was hoisted upwards.

 

                “What – what are you even doing?” he said, trying to remove the panic that dwelled in his inflections. Ignoring him, Gus detached the cuffs at his wrists from each other and pulled the one still attached to the chain up over Jesse’s head. This chain, too, was hurled over the bar and looped securely, until both of his limbs were suspended, and Jesse’s distress eked further skyward. Already, a sharp pain ran from his wrist down the length of his arm. Once Gus outfitted his right leg with a second belt, Jesse began to feel like a rag doll and he watched helplessly while his other knee was also raised up towards the bar, effectively leaving him wide open. It was painfully uncomfortable to have his legs pulled that high – the bottom half of them were starting to throb as they hung there, useless. Gus unclipped the chain from the stem between the ball and the cock ring, then stood up to lock Jesse’s other arm to the bar as well. When Gus stepped out of the way, Jesse was suddenly confronted with the image of himself, looking like he was about to star in his very own porn flick. It certainly wasn’t one he was interested in watching. Seeing the thin metal rod jutting from his body and angling towards his cock made him queasy, a confirmation of what was actually happening to him that he wasn’t prepared to stare in the face.

 

                “Are you serious with this?” was all he could muster to say. Gus sat back in front of him, perched on his heels, and turned his head the other way so that he was addressing him through the glass.

 

                “Perhaps you will learn, one day,” Gus replied. “To simply accept the way things are. And make the best of the situation.”

 

                “And how the hell do I make the best of _this?_ ” he asked wearily.

 

                Gus simply gave him another hint of a smile before bending down to stroke the insides of his thighs down to the roundness of his ass pressed to the bench’s black padding. The fact that Jesse was still sitting alleviated some of the tension in his arms, but not much. Gus shifted again, so that Jesse had another clear shot of what he was doing in the mirror’s reflection. The ball was tugged forward, but seeing the metal start to peek through repulsed him. He looked away with a disgusted groan, his chin on his shoulder.

 

                “Look at me,” Gus demanded, but Jesse closed his eyes, instead. He felt the ball pop out, felt muscles contract, and he groaned in misery again. Gus seemed to fiddle with something – the ball was being unscrewed from the sound of it. The cinch at the base his cock and testicles tightened as it was disconnected from the stem, but he heard the weighted _thunk_ of metal dropping to the carpet. “I told you to look,” Gus said menacingly.

 

                “Why? What the fuck do I need to look at that for?”

 

                “Because I said so,” was the cold answer. Jesse looked up at the bar above him, breathed in deeply before he directed his gaze before him. The position was embarrassing enough and one glance down made him look away again, his face burning.

 

                “Jesus. You get off on the weirdest shit,” he bitched.

 

                But Gus had grabbed a hold of something and was standing up, coming around to the back of him, so that Jesse was suddenly frantically looking over one shoulder to the other. “What are you doing?” He knew it was fruitless to expect any explanations from Gus, but the not knowing what lay ahead bothered him more than anything else.

 

                “Be quiet.” Gus brought the collar down in front of Jesse’s face on its way to his neck.

 

                “Christ, not this thing again.” It was a painful reminder of the way he’d been strapped up before, right before he’d been beaten. Gus choking him as he’d pulled back on the collar, Jesse feeling lightheaded as Gus had fucked him mercilessly. He didn’t even fuck girls that hard. As if to punctuate his feelings from the recollection, Gus picked up the collar’s buddy – the big black dildo his ass had already made acquaintances with.

 

                “Oh, c’mon!” he complained loudly. He watched in utter wretchedness as Gus held it up like a ready erection, a tube in his other hand. Gus seemed to delight in taking an extra long time coating the thick phallus, the gel a hanging thread poised in the air as it curlicued around the head like syrup.

 

                Gus dropped the tube of lubrication on the ground when he was done, reached for something in his pile then held up another, smaller chain – all the while fisting the black cock as if it were an ice cream cone, as if he might take a lick any second. One handed, he clipped the carabiner to the ring at Jesse’s throat, pulled it taut until it reached the ring around his cock. Jesse had to bend his body with the hard tug, and his chest curled as Gus lassoed his prick then connected the chain back to its links. Essentially immobile, Jesse was mortified to discover that he could no longer look away from his intended view. His head was held down low enough that his sight landed squarely on the picture of Gus pressing fingers to either side of his hole, stretching him wider as the dildo was delivered to its port of entry.

 

                “Jesus! Come on, Gus! I don’t want to see this!” he cried, the tensing in his shoulders and across his back as he attempted to pull away making him woozy.

 

                “But you will.”

 

                The dildo continued to enter him with Jesse stuck witnessing its progress. He wanted to cry, he felt so completely debased in the moment. He was nothing more than an object to be opened up and filled with whatever caught Gus’s fancy. He felt like a mouse being batted around by a bored cat, only the mouse was being penetrated by a huge fucking dildo.

 

                But when Gus reached down and kissed him between his legs, Jesse jerked in annoyance. He didn’t need that. Gus kissing him just confused matters. It was almost preferable to be objectified. Gus didn’t stop, however, kept leaving a trail of kisses that dotted across the glossy pink of his strained balls, and up the sturdy column of his dick. Meanwhile, Gus continued to ease the faux cock inside of him, and Jesse attempted to accommodate it, rocking from one side of his bottom to the other, his legs shifting in their trussed up state in an effort to relieve some pressure. Gus moved as well, turning his body so that he didn’t block the ongoing scene for Jesse, and as soon as he took Jesse’s cock in his mouth, Jesse moaned at the sight. God, he was pathetic.

 

                It had become apparent that Gus really enjoyed giving head, something that seemed out of character for a box-cutter-wielding torturer. But as Jesse endured watching in painstaking detail while Gus engulfed him with long, deep glides down to the base, as he flicked his tongue with rapid licks like a hummingbird’s wings to the slit of the head, then nibbled on the soft membrane in achingly slow circles, arousal crept up into Jesse’s spine, in his skewered nipples, and into his groin. The dildo was now fully encased, the throbbing in his ass spreading to the rest of him in sonar waves. Gus eased the dildo partially free, at the same time that he drew back on Jesse’s cock. Again, Jesse felt repulsed by seeing his body like this, watching as the silicone was slowly extracted. But then Gus pushed it the other way, filling him again with a swift punch, as he swooped his head down to take all of Jesse in his mouth.

 

                “Oh, God,” he groaned, feeling a tingle rise from his belly to his nipples, the warmth of Gus’s mouth making him thrust his ass off the bench.

 

                Gus did it again, slower this time, his movements coordinated to the in and out of the dildo. Each time, Gus would suck him down as the cock re-entered, both pulling away in the next instant. He kept it up for quite a while, as Jesse watched, now mesmerized, feeling as if he were being put under a hypnotist’s spell as he was fucked and blown with agonizing leisure. Gus stopped after a bit, looked him in the face with complete seriousness then leaned down to kiss his belly. He made another trail of licks and kisses back down to Jesse’s cock, and by the time he was sucking it again, deep-throating him as he rammed the dildo in as far as it would go, Jesse was making quite a bit of noise. The shouts were dragged from him, and he worried that Gus would gag him again. He tried to keep his lips pressed tightly together but then Gus would do that synchronized lunge and his vocal appreciation would be let loose, his pleasure overriding his indignation.

 

                His arms and legs felt mostly numb at this point, so that when Gus clutched at his thighs to – incredibly – spread him wider, there was a buzzing, bristling sensation under his flesh like a swarm of flies. Gus took the blow-job to the extreme, his head bounding up and down with great speed as Jesse felt the pressure in his balls gain momentum. He clenched tightly around the phallus in his ass and a shock went through him, making him cry out.

 

                The next moment, Gus was pulling the dildo free with little fanfare, and Jesse received the sobering vision of his body without it. “Holy fuck,” was all he could utter. Then Gus stood up quickly, already unbuttoning his shirt at the neck, and Jesse had a thrilling fear course through him. Gus was getting ready to fuck him, and for a fleeting second, Jesse thought he might want it to happen.

 

                There was a rush of movement as Gus hurriedly undressed. He didn’t even fold his clothes, simply dropped them to the floor, until he was completely naked in front of Jesse. He couldn’t avoid eyeing Gus’s genitals, could see that Gus was pretty eager for the next part. He wasn’t much bigger than Jesse length-wise, but girth was another matter, the beer can width of him making Jesse gulp in concern. Gus took off his glasses, folded them with great care, and then walked around the construct of his making until he stood behind Jesse. They stared at each other in the mirror, Jesse’s eyes beginning to hurt from the strain of looking up high enough. The glasses were set down at the other end of the bench before Gus straddled it, easing himself behind Jesse’s back. He wrapped his arms to Jesse’s front, his hands resting on the tautness of his stomach. Bending his head to Jesse’s shoulder he breathed in, following it with a long lick up to his neck. Jesse couldn’t help himself – he arched his back, another moan at his lips. He felt so open – vulnerable – felt the air like a wet heat cling to his skin, slick around the widened maw a few inches below his reddened prick.

 

                As soon as Gus lifted him, however, he jolted in panic. “What the hell,” he yawped.

 

                But Gus was seating himself under Jesse, holding him up by the thighs as Jesse grabbed for the chains in an attempt to cut back the pain in his arms.

 

                “I like to see you like this,” Gus said suddenly, his voice booming in the silence of the room. “On display.” He pulled Jesse’s legs back. “For me.”

 

                “Oh my God, enough with the pillow talk. You gonna fuck me or what?”

 

                Forced to watch again as Gus took cock in hand and pressed it to his asshole, Jesse tried to view it as a video, detaching himself from the act and simply thinking of it as more porn on his computer. This wasn’t really happening to him. He was just trying out the gay channel, watching a close-up shot of a dick boning a hole, stretching it like all good dicks do. Gus watched as well, studying the action over Jesse’s shoulder and through the mirror, and he eased himself into Jesse with conviction. Jesse grunted as Gus bumped his bottom up, making Gus’s dick drive deeper.

 

                “I want to see you like this once we have you augmented. I like the look of the studs, but a ring right here will be good. Very bold. I have plans for it.” Gus ran his finger to the strip of flesh between his asshole and his balls. “You will learn that pain is its own kind of pleasure. It has its rewards. There is a heightened world there, a place that you can grow stronger.”

 

                _Please, shut up._ Jesse stayed silent as he stared at the glass, his eyes drooping, feeling strangely enthralled as he saw Gus move in and out of him in slow strides again, holding Jesse’s body down every once in a while as he thrust up so that their scrotal sacs were squished together. It was like watching a car wreck – Jesse wouldn’t have been able to look away even if he’d had the freedom to do so. Gus moved his body underneath him with a deft grace, gripping Jesse’s legs as he held his weight up. That thick black cock kept sliding in and then out – Jesse could feel it, he couldn’t keep up the charade of a movie – so lazily and unhurried that Jesse started to think it might go on forever. He started to fall into a daze, the tightness in his balls and cock coming from a muted space, like they were wrapped in heavy blankets.

 

                In the next breath, Gus shifted under him, started to bounce Jesse faster on his cock until Jesse was moaning like a little bitch again. Gus grabbed him by the back of the neck, held Jesse tight as he pushed himself off the seat, thrusting deep. He gritted his teeth as Gus ground into him, started to bounce him even faster until Jesse’s vibrating groans filled through the room. He couldn’t shut up, his need to come suddenly desperate.

 

 

                “Gus. _Please,”_ were the only words he could form and he hated himself for saying even that much the second they’d left his tongue.

 

                Gus slowed down again, the penetration back to its hypnotic pace. “Not yet,” he said, then began to stroke Jesse’s cock in time to his thrusts. Jesse watched with fascination as Gus rubbed a finger over the head and spread the wetness that was leaking there along the skin, as he fisted Jesse with determination, beginning to jerk him off with a steady rhythm.

 

                He had almost been lulled into another trance when Gus started fucking him very fast again. There was a shift as Gus grappled his hands to curl over Jesse’s shoulders and pull him back with force, and Jesse felt Gus’s dick hit him in spots that made his brain and spine light up. He gasped for breath, his entire body now buzzing, no longer able to feel his feet, and he heard the heavy, labored breathing behind him as Gus exerted more energy into his movement, keeping an iron grip on Jesse. He had a sudden vision of Gus clutching at his chest, his eyes blinking in wide-eyed shock as a heart attack took hold, and for a split second he wished for it, reminding himself a beat later that he was chained up and would not want to be found this way with a dead man’s dick in his ass.

 

                There was a moment when Gus’s cock slid out from all of the bouncing, and Gus made a dash to stuff it back in, looking as hungrily aroused as Jesse felt. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see anymore, and just imagined what this orgasm would feel like when it finally hit. Gus thrust up deep again and Jesse almost came right then, his groan long and wanting.

 

                And then suddenly he was emptied. Eyes flashing open, he gripped the chains above him tighter, and felt Gus move him so that his bottom dropped back to the bench. He couldn’t even speak, just made more grunting inquiries as Gus stood up again. The man’s erection was positively pulsing as it stood proud and angry, but Gus was reaching above to the bar, and it was only when Jesse fell backwards that he realized Gus had released him. The air in his lungs was knocked from him as his back hit the bench, but his legs were still hanging as Gus stationed himself back in front, pushing up shoulders to the bend of Jesse’s knees and penetrating him once more. Jesse put his hands above his head and grabbed hold of the bench as Gus began to move, faster than before, fucking him like a demon had possession of his dick.

 

                “ _Oh my God..ohmygawwwwwd,_ ” Jesse screamed, wanting it like this, wanting Gus to suck him off or fingerbang him, or do whatever he wanted to do as long as it would make Jesse come the way his body felt right now.

 

                Gus grabbed him at his throat. “Tell me you want this,” he demanded.

 

                “ _What?”_ This wasn’t the moment for Gus’s little games.

 

                “Tell me you want this. You want me to do this.” Gus had returned back to the slow thrusts, his eyes locked to Jesse’s and his expression adamant.

 

                “No.” Jesse stared back with as much intensity as he could match in Gus’s glare. He wanted Gus to finish him off, but he wasn’t about to beg for it.

 

                “Yes! Say you want this.” Gus squeezed his throat tighter, sped up his pace.

 

                “ _I don’t_. I don’t want it.” He jutted his jaw out as he tilted his head back, still holding Gus’s gaze.

 

                “ _Liar._ ” Gus started to pound into him.

 

                He could hear himself carry on, but he didn’t even care anymore. He had slipped into his senses, the assault that Gus waged on them a cross between the floating state from the heroin and the fervency of the meth. Jesse wanted to slip away, wanted the feeling rushing through him and into his balls to be sustained for hours, but then his heart was in his ears, an overwhelming sonic boom, and Jesse heard his scream seconds before he felt it, felt the warmth hit his chest and his belly as he came.

 

                The whole room turned white before his eyes for a moment, his body rising then drifting, everything slowly coming back into focus as Gus continued his punishing fuck. Jesse was thrashed to and fro, his head still lost in stars, and when he heard Gus reach his own orgasm, a muffled groan through clenched teeth, he felt the light around him dim once more. A body dropped on top of him with a heavy thump. There was only the sound of them both breathing heavy for several minutes but eventually, wet lips grazed his neck. Jesse turned his head away, felt his consciousness fade then zoom back with steely colors. His head was twisted straight. He felt Gus’s mouth on his, hard and impassioned, as though Gus were stealing his very breath. Jesse closed his eyes, felt himself fall away.

 

                It was later, as he felt himself being carried up the stairs, when Jesse realized that he’d managed to come without Gus ever touching his dick.

 

 

* * *

 

 

                “Are you ready for some dinner? It is late, but I made something different for tonight. I think you will like it.”

 

                “I’m not hungry,” Jesse delivered flatly. He hugged himself, scratching at the itchy flare that had developed in his right nipple while he shivered from the cool air of the kitchen.

 

                “Would you like to me to put the heater on? Are you cold?”

 

                “Uh, yeah, but I’d probably be just fine if you let me put some clothes on.” He wore only the new briefs Gus had given him, the cotton knit snug around his privates. His backside held the now familiar pulse of the after effects of a dick pounding and Jesse hated that he had to sit down at the table, hated that he knew what it felt like to get fucked like that.

 

                Gus sighed as he stood by the table, his hand on the back of his chair. “If I let you wear my robe, will that be warm enough?”

 

                “Sure,” he drawled, “why not.” Jesse was grouchy now that he was alert. He wished Gus had let him stay asleep.

 

                “I have _charquicán_ for us. It was a favorite of mine as a boy. You should have some. I know you have not eaten much today.”

 

                “Yeah? You figure that out by watching me all day in the lab with your camera?” He slid his gaze slyly towards Gus. “You even do any work in that office of yours?”

 

                He received a baleful look. “Do not be this way.”

 

                Jesse tightened his jaw. “How would you _like_ me to be?” he asked obnoxiously.

 

                “I want you to act like an adult. Like a _man._ If someone takes the time to make food for you, then you gracefully accept.” Gus was back in his uniform, sans the coat, but he still looked imposing with his cap and tie. Jesse sat up a little straighter.

 

                “What’s … whatever you just said, anyway? What’s in it?” He put his arms around him tighter as he shivered noticeably again.

 

                “It is a stew made with _charqui_ , which is Chilean for jerky. There is potato and corn and squash, many spices. It is very delicious. I added more beef, than what is traditionally called for. I have to fry the egg, still.” He glanced towards the other room. “I will get you your robe. Why don’t you get the pan ready on the stove?”

 

                He got out of his chair in a hurry. “Hey, I already mopped up the floor. I’ll go get the robe while you get started. I know where it is. I need the can, anyway.”

 

                Gus seemed to mull over the idea, glancing back in the direction of the stairway before finally nodding his head. “Fine. Be quick about it.”

 

                Jesse sped off, running up the stairs before Gus changed his mind. He charged into Gus’s room and to the en suite, going first for his clothes hanging on the hook behind the door. He tucked his hands into his pants pocket and pulled out his cigarettes, breathing out heavily as soon as they were in his hand, snug and safe. He pulled out the upturned cigarette and his hand started to shake. This had to happen. Jesse would have to accept it. He murdered people. This is what he was.

 

                He closed the door loudly, turned the lock and then turned the faucet on, letting the water run undisturbed as he moved to the toilet. He really did need to take a piss. Looking over his shoulder, Jesse wished he could get dressed in his clothes. It seemed somewhat diminishing to poison a man in a bathrobe.

 

                When he put the robe on, he dropped his cigarettes into the pocket, leaving the stuffed one loose. He twiddled with the stick as he walked out of the bathroom, his fingers pressing to the squat plastic body under the paper right in its center. He stopped. Maybe it would be better to have the vial ready. He didn’t want to waste valuable time trying to tear the cigarette apart if he would only get seconds to act. He returned to the bathroom and closed the door again, remembering to lock it. The cigarette’s body was torn in half over the toilet, the vial pulled free, and Jesse flushed the tobacco guts down the bowl, pocketing the small tube with his pack. He headed back to the kitchen, but stopped again before he made it to the doorway. Gus’s closet door was open.

 

                Jesse’s curiosity took hold of him and he quickly moved to the entrance, gazing again at the collection at the end of the spacious room. He stepped inside, moving cautiously to the wall where they were displayed. There were racks that went all the way up to the ceiling, as well as brackets that held thin, long sticks which looked particularly nasty, while others held intricately carved paddles with wide blades. A row of whipping instruments hung vertically, some of them with thick tails. There were steel contraptions that he had no idea what their use was for, but he was sure it was not anything good. A face mask hung limp from a hook, the zipper that ran over the head gleaming under the light. There was another mask above it made of wood, but the expression carved there was one in pain, the open mouth downturned like a copy of the Greek tragedy mask he remembered from school. Lower on the wall, between the clothes on either side, hung a row of implements similar to the one that had been inside of him earlier. The shapes and sizes disturbed him. Heavy leather straps with metal bits were strung up like a horse’s tack in a barn. None of it made Jesse feel secure in what he was doing. He wished again that he had Mr. White to coach him on what to do. The prospect of dinner now had him queasy, his stomach roiling like a pit of snakes. His sight fell on an odd object that sat on one of Gus’s display shelves, a thick metal circle with vicious looking prongs that sprang from its sides, attached to a leather harness, and he put out a hand to touch it.

 

                “What are you doing?”

 

                Jesse screamed, his heart seizing in his chest. The harness dropped to the floor.

 

                “God _damnit!_ Didn’t I tell you not to do that?”

 

                “The food is ready. I told you to be quick.” Gus walked up to him, bent down to pick up the metal ring and laid it back out on its shelf. “This is my private space. You should not be in here,” he said tersely.

 

                “Sorry. I was just … you know, curious, that’s all. I don’t know too many people into this scene. I was … just wondering what you were into.” He waited a breath. “You know, like … what you might use on me. That kind of thing.”

 

                Gus sniffed in that prissy way of his. “You must learn some patience. I will show you these things when I think you are ready.”

 

                “Oh. Lucky me.” He pointed to the garish ring back in its place. “I mean, what the hell is that for, anyway? Looks like something a really fucked up dentist might use.”

 

                “It is an open gag,” Gus explained. "It stretches the mouth wide … these fit over the head and face. The subject cannot close it, they have to take whatever is given to them.”

 

                “Jesus,” Jesse commented, feeling queasier. He dropped his hand into his pocket to touch the vial, roll it in his fingers.

 

                “Come. The food is getting cold. I don’t have any soda today but I have plenty of juice. It is better for you.”

 

                “Whatever.” Jesse followed Gus down the stairs, his steps falling in tandem with the man in front of him. “You, uh … got any wine for tonight?”

 

                Gus stopped to glance over his shoulder. “You should not be drinking any liquor.”

 

                “I can handle one glass,” he snapped, adopting a brattish tone. “You don’t got to baby me. Christ. Like a sip of Chardonnay, or whatever, is really gonna get me back on heroin. That ain’t how it works.”

 

                He suffered through Gus’s study of him for an interminable minute. “We will see,” the man finally said, turning to finish his descent.

 

                Jesse followed him to the kitchen with a soldiering breath.

 

 


	14. The Confession

 

_Don Eladio, Gustavo didn't mean to offend. I know Gustavo like a brother. He's an honorable man. The most loyal man I have ever known. He rescued me from the Santiago slums. He made me the man I am today! Gustavo is a genius. He will make you millions! Just find it in your heart to forgive him this one small mistake. Please...He's my partner. I need him! I swear to God!_

 

“What do you think?”

 

                The boy looked up at him with his usual perplexed gape. “About what?”

 

                “The dish. Do you like it?” There was a strange yearning for his youth when he was with this one – old smells and memories of a more dynamic time haunting him. Gus’s head had been filled with conversations with the maids from his father’s house as he’d prepared the _charquicán._ He had been thinking of his brother and Pilar often as the week had passed, making his loneliness all the more punctuated. The weekend had been something to look forward to, a way to get back the thrill of his earlier days. Gus found himself daydreaming of Pinkman just as frequently, feeling like a spoiled child with too many toys to play with. There were many things that he wanted to do in service to this experiment. Things that he hadn’t thought about in ages – fostered in no small part by Pinkman surprising him with every encounter.

 

                “It’s alright,” the boy mumbled. “Still not really hungry, though.”

 

                “It is too much of that shit in your system,” Gus said. “You lose your appetite. Forget how to eat properly. How long have you been off the drugs now? Officially?”

 

                Pinkman glared at him, shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know. Three weeks? Maybe. I’m fine, okay? And your customers pay top dollar for that _shit._ ”

 

                “Not all of them, apparently.”

 

                Pinkman shifted his gaze nervously to his plate. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

                “It means that your guests were given quite a steady supply of free samples during the disgusting revelry at your house. Product that you stole from me. You are very crafty when you want to be.”

 

                The boy looked outraged. “What? I didn’t steal nothin’! What the hell, man? You think I’m that stupid? You got a fucking camera casing the lab twenty-four seven.”

 

                “I don’t know that this was merely stupidity. It was reckless, yes, but for what purpose? Did you really think that this would not be noticed? Was it that important to cater to the animals at your home? What did you hope to gain? You had money. You could have bought the product yourself. But you were trying to force my hand. Why?”

 

                “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pinkman insisted, his body starting a tremor with the jostling bounce of his leg. “I paid for my supply. Sorry, I guess I forgot to save my receipts.”

 

                “Do not play games with me. This is not an accusation. We know what you were doing. I want to know why. Were you trying to push Walter to act?”

 

                “Act what? Look, why would I do that? You said yourself, if I wanted it, I had money. Even though I was the one _making_ the damn stuff, but whatever. Your theory doesn’t make sense. I already knew you guys were itching to kill me. Why would I give you a reason?”

 

                “Exactly,” Gus said. “You knew that you were on shaky ground. Yet you pushed whatever limits were given. You let people walk out of your house with your money and seemed to care nothing about it. What was in your head? Who was this demonstration for?” Pinkman stayed quiet, his jaw clenched as he looked off to the window. Gus tried a different angle. “Why did you go after my men? After I demanded you make peace. It was two against one. You knew they were armed. Did you really expect to walk away from that confrontation? Tell me the truth.”

 

                “You want the _truth_? The truth is they murdered an eleven year old boy!” Pinkman was incensed as his voice rose to a shout. “You want to tell me that wasn’t on your orders?”

 

                “Calm down,” Gus cautioned. “This was not my intention. My men chose to take it upon themselves to interpret my decree the way they did. But _I_ would have dealt with them. Instead, what happens? You put yourself in a position to get killed and your partner has to come to your rescue. Did you not put _any_ forethought into this?”

 

                “ _Yeah_. I did. I had another plan, but my _partner_ went and ratted me out. Then a kid got killed. And maybe I might have gone down in a hail of bullets, but somebody had to take those fucking lowlifes out. That shit isn’t right.”

 

                “I see. You wanted to avenge the slain child by killing my men, but … Walter beat you to it. So you went and murdered my chemist. What happened to you after that?”

 

                The boy slammed his hand to the table, looked off in irritation. “Look, man. I don’t want to talk about this stuff. I don’t even know why you would want to bring this shit up after – after the stuff we just did. Jesus. Like, you can’t think of anything else to talk about except killing and torturing people? Seriously? Is that the kind of conversation that gives you a boner, or something?”

 

                “Behave yourself,” Gus said with a deep menace. “I am asking these questions because I want to understand why you did these things. And you _will_ answer them. Mike told me what happened after the girl died. That Walter put you in a detox center to get you off the heroin. When you came out, you were doing well. Clean. Healthy. I did business with you because I thought you might muster being a professional. But then you went back to the drugs, after Walter had you kill Gale Boetticher. Why did you do this?”

 

                Pinkman took a deep breath, ran splayed fingers over his eye. “You did business with me because you were trying to bring your golden boy into the fold,” he said, his voice raspy. “And it worked like a charm, too. Shoulda heard him fucking gloat about it.”

 

                “ _Answer me.”_

The boy stared off at the window again, his eyes wide and wet with his chin propped on an upturned palm. He ran his hand over what little hair was left on his crown, opening his mouth to speak, but then quickly closing it as he stared at the ground in utter misery.

 

                “You were upset. Shooting Gale affected you,” Gus stated with sudden conviction. “This was the first time you killed a man, yes? We saw your record. It was a trifling of offenses before you partnered with Walter.”

 

                Pinkman shook his head with an incredulous laugh, his eyes now shining and dangerous. “ _Of course_ , I was upset. I just killed some guy! That may be no sweat for you, but, yeah, it fucked me up. I … I didn’t want to hurt anyone, alright? What, are you gonna tell me I should feel okay about that? I mean, he was _your_ guy. You seemed pretty pissed off when you got back to the lab, if, you know, the throat slitting was anything to go by.”

 

                “Yes, I was very angry. I had a fondness for Gale. And for Victor, too. That Walter had put me in this position infuriated me. But … I respected the move. It was the smart choice. I would have done the same.” He took a sip of his water, having foregone the wine for the evening, and imagined Pinkman at Gale’s door, gun in a shaking hand. “If you did not want to kill him, then why did you do it?”

 

                Another exasperated gape. “What the hell do mean, why? Mike and your boy were about to murder Mr. White! You think I was just gonna let that happen?”

 

                “So you did it to save Walter’s life.” A touch of something snake-like slithered through him. Gus found the boy’s devotion to Walt irritating.

 

                “Uh, _yeah._ Duh.”

 

                There was a long breath. “I have asked you before not to be disrespectful. I am merely seeking to confirm what you felt at the time. Walter obviously means a great deal to you. You took Gale’s life because you were protecting Walter’s. If this is your reason … then you did nothing wrong, Jesse.”

 

                “How can you even say that?” he cried, his expression a glaring disbelief. “Yo, you just said you _liked_ Gale. But then, I guess, you liked the other one, too, huh? That didn’t seem to stop you from bleeding him out just to send us a message.”

 

                Gus shook his head with a forlorn contemplation. “No. It is not that simple. All those who work for me – we are part of a family, and it is up to me to take care of this family … even if I don’t always like facilitating the actions that are needed. Victor was careless. He had been seen at Gale’s apartment. He made himself expendable through his mistake. I did not want it to be this way, but … this is the business. This is what you have to understand, Jesse. Every one of us who signs up for this business of ours … we enter into a contract. This life brings death to our shoulder. It becomes a companion, always by your side. This is the risk we take for the financial gain and many of us will pay a steep price. You cannot afford to be sentimental over the players. Gale was a good man, but he was weak. He produced methamphetamine of his own choosing, in a world of high stakes that necessitates you to be ruthless. And he was caught in the crossfire. This is not a new story.”

 

                Pinkman had stopped eating once the discussion began, but he now pushed away his plate with contempt, the sound of the china’s rim scuffing along the table making Gus clench his teeth. “Oh, okay. So … I’m supposed to just kill people and _not feel_ anything? Just because I’m trying to make a living? Like, why? Why can’t we do business _without_ fucking shooting and killing each other! What happened to being reasonable?”

 

                “I did not make these rules, Jesse. I am simply trying to help you. You put yourself in these emotional places that you cannot deal with, so you return to using to avoid what you are feeling. You _need_ to learn to handle this. Take emotion out of it. If you have to kill, then know that your reason for it is sound and take some comfort from that.”

 

                The boy crossed his arms, stared outside into the night. “I ain’t ever gonna take comfort in any of this shit. You’re fucking …” He shook his head, closed his eyes then glanced back at Gus. “I mean, whatever, man. What about you? You trying to convince me that you take emotion out of all this?”

 

                “It is necessary,” Gus said. “This is how you survive in this world. Business is business.”

 

                “So, then … that whole deal down in Mexico? Killing the guy that was partly responsible for murdering your boyfriend – that wasn’t emotional?”

 

                Gus stilled, his eyes locked to the boy’s. A faint smile touched his lips. “That happened a long time ago. I had an opportunity to get my revenge. I took it. But … they were trying to make me come to heel like a young bitch. A man does not stand for this.”

 

                “Wow. Seriously?” He rolled his eyes to the ceiling with a deep sigh. “Can we just stop talking about this now?” Pinkman glanced towards the refrigerator. “You know, I think I’ll have some juice after all. If that’s cool.”

 

                Gus went back to eating his food. “Help yourself. It is behind the milk.”

 

                The boy stared at him for a beat before standing up, his hands stuffed in the robe’s pockets. “Um. Okay. You want anything?”

 

                He reached for his glass. “I am fine, thank you.” The boy shuffled off as Gus drank his water and watched Pinkman’s back. He seemed suddenly hesitant as he stood in front of the metallic door, his anger already deflating. He pulled it open slowly, peered inside as if he were expecting something to leap out at him. When he found the carafe, he took it to the second island, looked around from cupboard to cupboard for some glasses. He spotted them through the glass cabinet fronts and strolled to the other side of the stove. Gus picked up both of their dinner plates and moved in his direction, stopping at the first island right behind the boy to scrape the remaining food into the garbage. Pinkman jerked around, eyes wide.

 

                “You done already?” he asked with a slight tremor in his voice. He pulled a glass free and turned to Gus with expectation.

 

                 “I have some dessert, if you would like. Fresh raspberries and cream. I thought you did not have much of an appetite.”

 

                 “Yeah, I mean, but … that sounds nice. I’ll have some if you do. You want me to get it?” His hand was shoved in his pocket again, fingers moving under the terrycloth. “Or maybe you could show me how to make that … café _leche_. Um, you know the coffee you like.”

 

                 “No coffee tonight. You are … a bit high strung. I will bring out the fruit. You go in the living room and pick out some more music for us.”

 

                Pinkman hung about. “You sure? I don’t mind. I – I need to move around. The joints in my legs are still kind of messed up, you know? I still have pins and needles in my feet.”

 

                “Then we will be sure to do some proper stretches tomorrow before our run,” he suggested. “Now, go. Sit down. I will be with you shortly.”

 

                The boy didn’t appear to want to leave, but did as he was told, fists still deep in his pockets as he stalked off to the other room. Gus went to the refrigerator to get the raspberries, considered the frailty of the boy’s state of mind. He did not possess a killer’s instinct, was shaky where even his self-preservation was concerned. But Gus had a sudden, strong vision of a steely young man at his side – cutting down Gus’s enemy with hardly a blink – and it felt destined. He wanted to shape Pinkman, give him that hard shell, and yet, the softer, yielding side of the boy – Gus wanted to protect that part for himself.

 

                He heard the music from the other room seep into the speakers, a familiar guitar preceding an operatic soprano, and smiled. Pinkman was good at this. When he stepped into the room with a tray carrying the two bowls, the boy was standing at the stereo unit, hunched over the music player. Gus cleared his throat this time, not wanting to startle him again.

 

                “I know this chick,” he told Gus, a look of surprise on his face. “Wasn’t she like a punk singer in the seventies, or something?”

 

                “Yes,” Gus grinned. “Nina Hagen. She has an amazing voice. Her range is incredible.” He set the tray down on the table. “I had an opportunity to meet her once. Fascinating woman.” The high notes became a mighty screech as the crunch of guitars wailed behind her.

 

                “For real? When was this?”

 

                The music was quite loud and Gus came over to turn the volume down, the soprano’s pitch almost piercing. “In Buenos Aires, in ’82, maybe? I was there on business and I went to her show. The friends I was with knew her and invited me to dinner to meet her. This was … my younger days, of course.” The excitement of the nights there, with Max in tow had left a big impression on them both. The underground scene had been vibrant and the sex intoxicating. Max had drawn a lot of attention and Gustavo had burst with pride to have him on his arm, or to show him off on a leash in the private dens. When the situation back home had begun to disintegrate, Max had wanted to go back, but Gus had insisted on Mexico because of ties there. One of his first mistakes.

 

                “Yeah, she’s kind of weird, but … it’s cool. A ... friend used to play some of her stuff. I like it – she sounds totally free.” He glanced to the sofa behind them. “Isn’t she singing in, like, German, or something?” His voice rose as the song gained its full momentum and the rush of her highest note sustained for an incredibly long breath overpowered them in the small room.

 

                “This was an early track of hers. The voice is much deeper now.” The song came to its blistering conclusion, devolving into a chicken’s cluck, and Gus took Pinkman by the wrist. “Let’s find something a little more soothing.” He switched the tune to a calmer songstress – the lovely Susanna Baca. The soft strains of ‘ _De Los Amores’_ began. Gus took Pinkman’s arm and led him to the sofa, making sure he sat next to him this time.

 

 

                “So … what got you listening to German punk, then? That doesn’t really seem like your style.”

 

                “I speak some German,” he said smoothly. It was always a connection that left him uneasy, as if someone might acknowledge the origin of his name and would immediately suspect it as the alias it was. His trips to see Peter were always a pleasure, but they were still fraught with paranoia, even under Peter’s protection. “There are Chileans with German ancestry,” he explained. “Although they are mostly in the Los Lagos region these days. My father’s great grandfather came with the thirty thousand immigrants that arrived during the revolution in the 1840’s. There is still a healthy population of Germans living in Santiago.”

 

                “Wait. You’re telling me, Fring is German?”

 

                “Yes.” He picked up a bowl, handed it to the boy.

 

                “Oh, I forgot to grab my juice,” Pinkman said, looking off to the kitchen as if it were miles away. Gus stayed in his seat.

 

                “It is best to eat them on their own, like this, to get their full flavor, with just a bit of the cream to bring out their sweetness. A drink will dilute it,” he told the boy. “I will get you something when I take our dishes back.” He liked having him in his living room, like a proper guest. There were discussions he wanted to have, things about the boy he wanted to discover.

 

                But Pinkman eyed him warily as he ate his raspberries, the cream collected in the crease of his lips sending Gus’s imagination soaring as Susanna set a romantic mood in the room. He was rejuvenated around the boy, feeling the power of his attraction running through his loins the moment he set eyes on Pinkman. This had not been a regular occurrence for Gus in quite some time. Just the idea of his recent randiness was amusing to him – already he was thinking of their night together, when he could be wrapped around Pinkman's body again. The virility he felt was bordering on a cliché, but nonetheless it was present at the mere thought of him. The boy’s reactions during sex were thrilling to watch, and the mirror earlier had provided Gus dual opportunities to catch every expression in his face.

 

                “I hope you are feeling better,” he queried. The strict tone he’d set as soon as Pinkman had arrived was necessary, but he was finding moments where he felt an inexplicable urge to please the young man, to make sure he was engaged. Pinkman’s spirit summoned something unnamable inside of Gus that he thought he’d lost.

 

                “Um … better about what? My arms and legs getting strung up like a turkey or getting my nipples trashed against my will? Or that I’m being forced to play sex slave for a guy who used to electrocute people? Which one should I be feeling better about?”

 

                “Better, in general,” Gus said carefully. The boy had a flair for wresting a rise out of his elders, but Gus was not interested in being goaded into a temper this evening. “I do not mean to upset you with my recollections. I only meant to … instruct. To show you how it can be done. The advice I received when I was your age was instrumental in my success. I wish to impart this same blueprint to you. To help you succeed. You can become a very rich man. But it will do you no good if you let your weaknesses destroy you. There must be strength, there, Jesse.”

 

                “Yeah, I’m kind of getting that,” he said dryly. Pinkman set his empty bowl down, leaned against the couch with his arm across the back, one leg tucked under the other. He looked behind him, casting his eyes around the room with interest, before they settled back on Gus. “So … why don’t you tell me about the first time _you_ killed a guy? How did that go for you?” His eyes narrowed in askance. “I mean, how many people have you even killed? Didn’t your guys, like, disappear a bunch of them around then? That general dude was bad news, right?”

 

                “Oh, you are suddenly familiar with the history of my country,” Gus said mockingly, feeling instantly challenged. “What do you know of the Communist threat? The Marxists were idealists but they were dangerous, threatening the very fabric of our way of life. The country was buried in debt under Allende – inflation was astronomical. But you are seeing only one side. They were enemies. And enemies are dealt with in only one fashion.” Gus saw the walls of the buildings around Santiago in his mind’s eye, littered with the graffiti from the families of the missing. “ _Donde estan!_ ” was painted everywhere he turned by the time he had fled.

 

                “Whatever. I ain’t interested in no history lesson,” Pinkman stated with belligerence. “Just tell me about your first time. What was it like? Just how _easy_ was it? I’m all ears, here.”

 

                As if on cue, the song changed and the harmony of honky-tonk guitar strums and the lament of a violin poured into the living room, evoking a desolate desert, a burning sun cracking the earth. Another woman’s mournful voice flowed over them and a deep sadness took root in Gus as he remembered a name from long ago.

 

_Llorando_   
_de cara a la pared_   
_se apaga la ciudad_

                “I told you about what happened at school,” Gus began. “About the boy. His name was Sebastian. Sebastian Lagos. Quiet. Very studious. But passionate … dedicated. I admired him very much.”

 

_Llorando_   
_Y no hay màs_   
_muero quizas_   
_Adonde estàs?_

Gus remembered the first time he’d seen Sebastian’s smile. How his heart had caught on a breath, his world freezing for a moment in time.

 

                “When we were … discovered, Sebastian was not allowed to return. He was expelled in disgrace. But his family, they were strong Allende supporters – there were rumors they were tied to the U.P.” Pinkman’s expression turned befuddled. “The Popular Unity Party,” he explained. “Their members went underground after Pinochet took over, and the country was under martial law. They had to rely on the church for aid, looked outside of Chile for support, but there were splintered groups that formed, and from their seeds they infected the students in the universities, where the anarchists coalesced and added their numbers to the MIR, who attacked our weak spots, attempted assassinations every other month.”

_Soñando_   
_de cara a la pared_   
_se quema la ciudad_

“So … this guy you were messing around with was, like, a Communist? Is that what you’re saying?”

_Soñando_   
_sin respirar_   
_te quiero amar_   
_te quiero amar_

“He would have made the distinction that he was a Socialist militant. Even at military school, he was adamant about Allende’s policies, touting it as _Allende’s way._ He possessed a strange dichotomy in his view of life. He wanted to be a part of a fight, but he was outnumbered by the Republicans and was targeted often. When he was kicked out of the school, they burned his bed sheets.” Gus felt a chill as he thought about his first night back at the dorms, but he quickly pushed the images from his mind.

 

            “But … then Pinochet took his army and marched through the palace. Sebastian’s parents had been killed in the junta’s first wave of the coup, while Sebastian and his sisters disappeared. No one knew where to, but I would sometimes hear whispers. Several years passed. I was stationed at Villa Grimaldi when I saw him again.” He paused as the moment came before him, the memory as fresh as if it had happened only the day before. His shock when he’d seen them bring Sebastian in, legs and hands tied to a post that was hoisted across the men’s shoulders, had frozen the blood in Gus’s veins. “The Villa – this was an old colonial estate, very grand, almost thirty rooms in the house. There was a stable for horses, pigs for slaughter. This was maybe a half hour outside of Santiago, on a quiet stretch of acreage. This made it an ideal place for what happened there.”

 

_Rezando_   
_de cara a la pared_   
_se hunde la ciudad_

            “You mean more torture,” Pinkman said in an accusing tone. “What, did you, like, live there? Get up, have breakfast, string some guys up by their toes or shock them, or whatever fucked up shit you did, then go and, you know, take a ten minute break for lunch? How do you live like that? Like, seriously, how do you … what kind of person does that?”

 

            “You get used to it,” Gus offered, “the mundanity of it all. Those officers who stayed on site had rooms upstairs. The prisoners were kept down below, while the rooms in between were used as administrative offices. The rest of the men, those that were single, stayed in a nearby facility. It was run very efficiently. But the _jefe_ of the place, Pedro Espinoza Bravo – he was called _Don Rodrigo_ by everyone there – he was a boorish man. A bully. Not very intelligent, at all, but he was ruthless. I was there for only a few months, in a … training capacity. The use of _la parrilla_ happened in a large room called ‘the Tower’, on the left side of the building.” And Gustavo had watched eagerly, learned to spot the subtle changes in the prisoners as the men worked them over.

 

            “But at this location, Espinoza and his men, their main objective was to target the MIR – the Movement of the Revolutionary Left – and bring in any suspected members, anyone that might know anything about them. When they brought in Sebastian, they nicknamed him _El Gato –_ the cat. He had been responsible for two bombings that they knew of, but he had slipped through police fingers every time. The day they arrested him, he was tortured extensively. They cut into his chest with a bayonet, used the point to push his chin up from the ground while his arms were tied behind him. Sebastian was considered a traitor – because he’d been at the academy. There were only a few of the men that knew why Sebastian had been expelled, however – knew of my association with him.”

_Rezando_   
_Santa Maria_   
_Santa Maria_   
_Santa Maria_

            Gus listened to the weeping of the violin as it faded, recalled his heavy heart when he had laid eyes on Sebastian again, no longer the quiet, sensitive boy, but a raving, spitting madman, with long hair and a deep scar on his cheek.

 

            “There was a trough they kept outside in the stable. During certain interrogations, it was filled with raw sewage from the tanks. This method was reserved for the special prisoners that were brought in, leaders of the guerilla movement. Their heads would be dunked in the piss and shit, every forty seconds, until they talked. Sometimes, broken glass would be added to the mixture. It was vile in there. Many of the soldiers wore gas masks over their faces.” Gus had been directed to stand watch, _“el ronco” –_ Espinoza’s second-in-command, Marcelo – being one of his old classmates that knew of Gus’s connection, and he had suppressed his horror with difficulty when they dragged Sebastian in. Marcelo was a prurient fellow with a grating voice. He goaded the other men on before their guest of honor arrived, told of sordid tales of Sebastian’s supposedly wild homosexuality. Gus had the thin protection of a pretty wife and baby daughter at home, but Marcelo had eyed him with a jackal’s zeal as he made disgusting suggestions of what they could do to Sebastian after he gave his confession. Marcelo had been a regular in the women’s cells, their screams always erupting after his entrance. There had been talk that _el ronco_ had been responsible for raping one of the pregnant women so badly she had miscarried.

 

            “Sebastian … he recognized me when he saw me.” It had been awful. Gus had panicked inside, his unruffled exterior giving nothing away, while the feeling of being choked, of being smothered on his first night back in the dorms, had suddenly attacked his senses. _Gustavo?_ Sebastian had said in surprise, his eyes softening instantly. And Gus’s insides had turned to ice as he felt his skin harden into steel.

 

            “I – I knew what they would do to him,” Gus explained. “Knew that the pain would go on for a while, perhaps days. That they … would humiliate him in whichever way they could – there was no question. Sebastian _was_ a traitor. I knew this. He had killed our men, created mayhem wherever he could; had brought in hundreds of recruitments with his fervor. The MIR had grown to almost eight thousand by this time. He had to be stopped.”

 

            “What did you do?” Pinkman asked, his eyes like saucers

 

            “I stepped forward. Confessed to the others that I had known him at the academy, and that he was a known degenerate – a danger even then. I offered to take over. Sebastian … he cried for mercy. Insisted that I could not do such a thing, did I not remember?” _Me lo dijiste,_ _Gustavo._ “But I could not let him tarnish me in front of the other men. I did what needed to be done. I held his head down in the trough, with my bare hands, not even a cloth tied on my face. The others were surprised, disgusted. Someone threw up. But I kept his neck in my grip. He struggled profusely, even in his binds. I did not let go. The time ticked by, the only sounds in the stable were the slosh of the filth and the single crow of a rooster. And then Sebastian struggled no more in this life.”

 

            It was quiet for several minutes as Pinkman sat aghast, his features frozen into a disturbed mask. A shiver ran up the boy’s body, breaking the spell, like a fault line splitting the ground during a quake. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before unleashing his distress.

 

            “Are you fucking _serious_?!” Tears were caught in his lashes as he gaped at Gus in near despondency. “You fucking smothered a guy to death in _shit?_ What the _fuck,_ Gus?! Why the hell would you tell me that?!” He turned away, dropped his head in his hands, elbows rocking on his knees. “Jesus _Christ._ I’m going to be sick.”

 

            Gus moved closer, put his hands to the boy’s back to rub it soothingly, but Pinkman recoiled. “Do not get yourself worked up over this. I told you the story because you asked. You think I have some great secret to unlock when you take a man’s life? It is always different. Sometimes it will be painful, other times it will be … deeply satisfying. But we affix our masks and we move on, Jesse. You cannot let these memories hold you in stasis.”

 

            Pinkman pulled away from him, stood up to move by the wall where his Diego Rivera took up most of its surface. “Just … like, don’t touch me right now, okay? I – I need to use the restroom. Seriously, I think I might puke.”

 

            Gus sighed. “Then go.”

 

            He watched the boy leave the room, feeling another familiar pang as an image of Maximino came to him, on the night Gus had returned to the city from his stay at Grimaldi. He had not gone home, but had found Max, instead, had taken him to a hotel. Max had been seventeen but had known instantly what Gustavo sought from him, the boy’s weeks of flirting having finally landed its mark. Gus had molded himself to the young body, had drowned himself in the pleasure the boy brought to him, and slowly, Sebastian’s face had faded, had dissolved to a distant star. Gus spent the entire week with Max in that room. At the end of it, they emerged together. Gus would not let Max out of his sight, and Max did not want to leave him. He found an apartment for the boy the next day, set him up with furniture and money for living expenses. The little flat became his weekend retreat, sometimes even mid-week, while Pilar was at home four months pregnant with Victoria.

 

            Pinkman was neither Max nor Sebastian, he reminded himself. This one would not be another sacrifice, another mistake. He should have recognized the boy’s depression after Gale, but his judgment had been clouded by his anger and prejudice. But with Pinkman separated from Walter, Gus felt some progress could finally be made with the young man. He stood up and strode to the bathroom in the hallway. Knocking a few times, Gus realized it was empty, then moved smoothly up the stairs to go in search of Pinkman.

 

            He waited patiently on the bed in his bedroom for the boy to exit the bathroom. He heard a flush. As soon as Pinkman came out, he reared back in alarm at seeing Gus there.

 

            “What? I can’t take a shit by myself?” he complained.

 

            “I want to show you something,” Gus said, holding out his hand to take Pinkman’s. The boy stared at him distrustfully before glancing at the door, his apprehension in his limbs as he nervously flapped at his robe.

 

            “Does it have anything more to do with … killing your gay lovers and whatnot?”

 

            “No. We’ve had enough stories for one night. Please. Come with me.” His hand stayed aloft until Pinkman eventually took it, a deep sigh emanating from him as Gus dragged him back to the stairs. They descended quickly, Gus holding the boy’s hand tightly as they rounded the banister to make way for his office.

 

            He flicked the light on and brought Pinkman inside, letting go of him to step over to the bookcase. Pinkman stilled, studied the walls in rapt attention.

 

            “Uh, hey … is that your whole family?” he asked, pointing to a cloud formation of frames connected together, filled with black and white photos of his children and his younger self. A picture of him at two years old filled one of the larger frames at its corner.

 

            “Yes,” he replied as Pinkman walked closer to the wall, inspecting the images inside. “That is my mother,” Gus noted, coming up behind Pinkman to point out an early photo of her still in her teens. Her smile was broad and her face full of zest, eyes crinkled in her happiness. “This one here, this is my brother, Mateo.” The photo was of the two of them, at five and six, arms slung over each other as they grinned into the camera. He showed off another picture of an older Mateo, handsome and smiling in his cadet uniform. His brother had been lighter than him, could almost pass for white, but they both took after their mother in their looks.

 

            Pinkman looked around the room, crossing his arms. He jutted a chin to the corner where a stuffed dog sat on a child’s table, surrounded by small chairs and plastic trucks. “What’s with the toys? You, uh, expecting some kids, or something?”

 

            Gus looked back at the leftovers from Walter’s visit. He had been meaning to drop them off at a local shelter for weeks. “These are for … my grandson,” he lied. “I keep meaning to mail them, but I have not gotten around to it yet.”

 

            “You’re a grandfather?” Pinkman shook his head in amazement. “Jesus, that is all kinds of fucked up.”

 

            “Jesse,” he said in a deep voice, drawing the boy’s focus back to him. “Listen to me.” He stepped closer to hold Pinkman’s face in his hands, caressing soft cheeks with his thumbs. “Why do you do this? You had a chance to walk away before, after you conquered your addiction the first time. But you went back to this life, even without Walter. Why? Tell me, what do you want from this business?”

 

            Pinkman looked frightened, tried to pull away from his grip, but Gus wouldn’t let go. The boy curled his fingers around Gus’s wrists. “To make more green, why else?” he seethed through clenched teeth.

 

            “That is not the only reason,” Gus insisted.

 

            “’Cause it’s the only thing I’m good at!” he exclaimed in exasperation. “I – I got nothing else, alright? Can you let go of me, please?”

 

            Gus slid his hands down to Pinkman’s shoulders, squeezing them reflexively. “You sell yourself short,” he said. “You can be good at a great many things, Jesse. If you will let me help you.”

 

            The boy’s fear shifted to antipathy as he stretched his eyes to the ceiling, stuck out his bottom jaw and scraped it along his back teeth. “Like what? How to be a good bottom? I’m sure you’re dying to show me how to achieve that.”

 

            Gus ignored the crass taunt. “You have a talent, Jesse. One that can make you a lot of money. But why leave it at that? Why not become the very best at this that you can? I can make you richer than you ever imagined.” He waved a hand towards the bloated bookcase. “I have textbooks here for you to study. We can get you a tutor. Get you up to speed for UNM.”

 

            “What?” the boy said, his voice hollow. “What are you talking about? Up to speed for what?” Pinkman looked at him as if he were crazy. “Yo, are you suggesting I, like, go to college? Are you nuts?”

 

            “Walter is not the only chemistry teacher in the state,” Gus said. “There are others you can learn from, Jesse. Professors I know personally. And when you have a better understanding of the process you work with every day – we can give you more responsibilities. Why settle for being just the cook?” He felt a light pouring from him as his vision took hold. “I can have you _train_ others. Have you help me expand my business. I can send you all over the world, Jesse.”

 

            “You want me to train other people to do what? Do what I do? With Mr. White’s formula? Why? So you can waste me as soon as you have a team of replacements? Do I look that stupid?”

 

            “This will not happen, Jesse. You would have my word. You would hold a place of high esteem in my business. This can open many doors for us: the ability to train more cooks, set them up in other locations. As it is now, the operation rises and sets on your shoulders. What if you are sick? Or you are unable to come to work, for whatever reason. I cannot simply stop production every time this occurs. Walter was too threatened by anyone that might be able to reproduce what he could do. Like you, for instance. Look how quickly he turned on you as soon as he thought you were stealing his spotlight. I need someone who can work together with me, Jesse. And I believe that you are that person.”

 

            “Oh my God, you are totally insane. I mean, do you even know what the hell you’re saying … here? How am I gonna make the production schedule and go to …” he laughed, “Go to _college_ at the same time? What, are you my dad, now? That’s _not_ gonna happen. My grades were shit, first of all. I wouldn’t even be able to get in at UNM.”

 

            “I am on the board of the university. I have a Chemistry scholarship established there, have had it set up for the last fifteen years. I can get whatever student I want in the program, if necessary. But we could work this out in an unofficial capacity. You don’t even have to set foot in a classroom. This is something that I believe you can do. I do watch you work, Jesse. You take pride in what you produce. Max never believed he could manage school, either, had been conditioned to think less of himself – but he turned out to be brilliant in his studies.”

 

            “Well, I’m not Max,” Pinkman said, his voice wavering. “And I sure as shit ain’t Mr. White.” He dragged himself away from Gus, who finally released him. “I – I can’t do that. What you’re asking. I’m … like, I’m so _not_ brilliantat anything. This crazy idea of yours – it’s just not gonna work. And I mean, like – what happened to you threatening me if I ever stop cooking for you? You said you’d kill Mr. White’s entire family; that I couldn’t ever walk away. Why do you think I’m even here? And now, what? Now, you want to turn me into your _trainer?_ Are you even listening to yourself? Am I supposed to believe that just ‘cause you like fucking me, you suddenly wanna make me your top guy? You’re gonna make my life all rosy and special to make up for the dead one? Is that it?”

 

            For just a brief instant, his anger flared, a match sparked in the blackness before abating to a blue flame, as Gus quashed the sudden surge of emotion. There would be time enough for corrective action tomorrow.

 

            “You _can_ do this. I’ve seen the possibility in you, Jesse.” Gus put a hand over Pinkman’s heart, feeling the bump of metal through the robe. “ _Qué alma tan apasionada_. You have such passion. But you need direction. I am offering you that.”

 

            “I don’t believe you,” the boy said. “You’re just trying to blow smoke up my ass now. Get me all turned around so I let you kill Mr. White. But you promised you wouldn’t. I don’t care what you do to me, but you have to keep your word.”

 

            “You can protect them all. I won’t bring any harm to them, not even Walter … not unless he does something stupid. But this is about you, Jesse. What _you_ can accomplish.” He grabbed the boy by the shoulders again. “You don’t need Walter, anymore. You need to start trusting yourself.”

 

            “And what about you? How am I supposed to trust you?” the boy asked angrily.

 

            “If I give you my word, then … you have my word,” Gus responded gravely. “But you have to promise me something, too.”

 

            Pinkman sneered. “Like what? I’m already giving you my ass. With no glove, I might add. What the hell else do you expect from me?”

 

            “You have to stay away from Walter. Do not let him approach you.”

 

            Pinkman’s sneer dropped in an instant. He quickly looked at the ground. “Fine. I don’t want to see him, anyway.”

 

            Gus exhaled his relief in a long gust. “Good.” He stroked up the boy’s neck, rubbed a hand over the shorn head. “Why did you do this?” he said sadly. Some poor attempt to mimic his mentor. “You will let it grow out again. No more shaving.”

 

            Pinkman trembled under Gus’s hands. He closed his eyes. “Whatever.”

 

            “We need to make you legitimate,” Gus continued.

 

            Pinkman’s eyes snapped open. “I ain’t buying no nail salon.”

 

            “I beg your pardon?” Gus didn’t understand the reference. “No, we need to get you a job.”

 

             Pinkman’s gaze narrowed. “I already got a job.”

 

            “Not in the eyes of the law.” Gus let his hands run down the lapels of the robe Pinkman wore, until they set upon the knot at his waist. “I am thinking that I will hire you. At my restaurant.”

 

            “At a fast food joint? Uh, no.”

 

            Gus flashed his irritation before tucking it away. “No, you misunderstand. I can give you a position on the books. As a supervisor, one who runs inspections for the whole chain. I have fourteen restaurants. I need to make sure they are all following the food safety codes; that they stay in compliance. I have need of someone to make these rounds. Someone who does not have to stay in one place.” Gus slipped his hands around Pinkman’s back, clasping them to rest on the boy’s bottom. Pinkman stepped backwards, but was stopped by the desk. Gus moved closer until his hips pressed against the boy’s. “I would pay you a salary of … a hundred thousand annually. This will give you some money to play with – to set your affairs up. Do you even have a bank account?” He knew Goodman was handling the boy’s property taxes.

 

            “I don’t need all that shit,” Pinkman insisted.

 

            “But you do,” Gus said. “This is common sense. You cannot live in a house that you paid for with cash, buy groceries and pay your utilities, buy your fancy tvs, all with no income. You will be questioned, eventually. We need to establish a history for you. Build up your credit. Do all the things that adults must do, Jesse. I will set up a savings account for you, overseas. Very soon, Goodman’s safe won’t be able to hold it all.”

 

            “Why?” the boy asked baldly. “Why would you do all that for me?”

 

            “I told you.” Gus slid his hands up the boy’s back, pulled him closer until their mouths were near. He stared at Pinkman’s lips. “I believe in you.”

 

             Gus bent his head to kiss him, breathing in deeply as he stretched their mouths open together, his tongue eager to explore every bit of him. The boy still shook under his touch, but Gus liked the innocence of it. He embraced the boy tighter, fingers gliding over the back of the boy’s neck, one hand over his ass as Gus ground his excitement into Pinkman’s crotch. Gus wanted to whisk him to his room, take him repeatedly, on into the night. But he stopped suddenly. Dragged his mouth away reluctantly as he held the boy’s gaze.

 

             “Tell me that you will think about this option, Jesse,” he said, his sincerity embedded in the words. “That you will give it serious consideration.”

 

             The boy sighed and looked at the wall. “Okay,” he acquiesced.

 

             Gus grabbed his hand and took him to his room.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ... that last chapter. What can I say? Gus likes to sneak off the reservation to get some dirty damp and deep.
> 
> It has reached that magical time again - a rare occurrence around these parts - when the comments on my fic have now surpassed the kudos. I realize that the pairing and the tags gain me a smaller audience on this board automatically, but I would like to take a moment to express that I am very grateful and appreciative that the audience I _do_ have is so wonderfully vocal and engaged - sharing so much insight and speculation into the story. It's a pleasure to read through everyone's notes.  
>  But, at this point, I will refrain from replying directly to you in the comments section, and instead, answer any questions in the end notes. I hope that's okay with everyone.
> 
> The research into the state of affairs under Pinochet, and the experiences of the tortured, is really quite horrific. I am always amazed by the depths men are willing to go to reduce each other to ashes. I am admittedly fascinated by it, too - partly why I wanted to write Gus's story.
> 
> The song that plays during Gus's 'confession' is _De Cara a la Pared_ by Lhasa de Sela, who possessed a truly glorious, haunting voice:
> 
>  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k_N_FQuSeuo&list=PL0A617784A40A8DA3&index=1
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you to nemesia, for her translations.


	15. The Chill

 

_There's a chill. Don't freak out, it passes. And then...you'll see. I'll meet you there_

 

 

                The dawning light seeped into the corners of the walls like a fog as he lay awake. Jesse was getting really good at studying the plaster patterns of ceilings lately. He stared at the scalloped one in Gus’s room with enough intensity to burn holes through the roof.

 

                He needed to pee. Badly. That would require leaving the bed, however, and presently he was attached to the end frame. All that talk about trust and then Gus had gone and cuffed his ankle to the bed. It was galling – and absolutely nothing like what he’d done for Andrea. Jesse visualized the vial tucked in the front of his cigarette box and back in his jeans pocket, left there in the hopes that he’d be able to sneak down to Gus’s refrigerator in the middle of the night to do some damage. It had been frustrating throughout dinner how Gus had managed to thwart his every attempt to get close to anything worth poisoning. He’d had little time to narrow his options as he stood there in the bathroom counting the seconds until Gus would come looking for him. There’d been no mouthwash in the medicine cabinet for him to dose, the toothpaste would have been too difficult, and everything else that was available to him was topical. Mr. White’s lessons about the three i’s had come back to him: inhalation, ingestion, or injection. He’d said that inhaling it would have worked the fastest, but it wasn’t like Jesse could simply blow the toxin into Gus’s face. And Gus didn’t appear to be a diabetic, so injection was out as well. The ricin would have to be ingested in his food or a drink.

 

                There was a snort next to him, and then the bed jostled with Gus’s movement. The man turned on his side, throwing an arm across Jesse’s chest. He rolled his head to stare at the window, grinding his teeth as he suffered through more of Gus’s disturbing possession fetish. His body was still sore from the night before, the aches from the stretching in the gym compounded once Gus had brought him back to bed. Jesse had prayed briefly that he might be allowed to have the spare room again, to recover from earlier, but Gus had insisted that he stay with him. He had demanded that Jesse strip, climb onto the bed as before.

 

                Being terrified and pissed off at the same time was exhausting. The stories that Gus had orated left Jesse feeling powerless against the man. Gus could do anything to him. Anything. And he wouldn’t even bat an eyelash. The guy was a monster, pure and simple. But then he’d turn around and offer to do all of these things for Jesse and it confused the hell out of him. Why hadn’t Mr. White ever suggested a job at his new car wash to give Jesse a front? That could have been cool, working with Mrs. White on weekends, getting to know Mr. White’s son. Jesse could almost see it. Although if such a suggestion had ever come forth from the man, Jesse would have probably laughed in Mr. White’s face, just as he’d laughed at Gus the night before. Still, Gus had a point. _I’m a criminal, yo,_ he had said to Saul, feeling dangerous and mean back then. Back before he’d become a killer. But not camouflaging his livelihood, not presenting a plausible cover for the cops was just stupid. And he definitely didn’t want to go to jail. He’d get turned into mincemeat in there.

 

                It made him think of his situation with Gus. After he’d locked Jesse’s ankle to the bed, Gus had pretty much attacked Jesse again. Jesse had come twice; the first time in Gus’s mouth, and then later, as Gus had fucked him into the mattress, his body pinned down by the other man’s, belly flat on the bed and legs spread wide. Gus had taken his sweet-ass time, too, grinding into him with such unbearable slowness just to make sure that Jesse felt _everything._ And he certainly had. Jesse didn’t know how to compartmentalize that. Gus knew what he was doing, every orgasm had been intense, but this was hardly a consolation. The fact that he was getting off at all continued to worry him. Maybe there was something wrong with him.

 

                As if Gus had heard his thoughts, Jesse felt the man’s hand come alive to stroke down his side, flitter lazily across the upper plate of his thigh, and then come to rest on Jesse’s cock. Morning wood was expected, but Gus seemed eager to take advantage of the stiffness as fingers glided like miniature beings down to the tip, making Jesse’s need to empty his bladder even more pronounced. He swallowed thickly, tried to cast out the lingering images of Gus flipping him to his back after the sex and then making out with him for close to an hour. Jesse’s nipples still felt raw this morning after the man had basically chewed on them for half the night, but something about the way the guy kissed him was particularly unsettling. He felt like a stand-in for a ghost.

 

                The hand moved to his testicles, cupped them tightly, stretching them like they were made of rubber. Gus had to be awake and just fucking with him now.

 

                “Stop it,” he groused, his voice scratchy over the hum of the air conditioner. He couldn’t get away from this house fast enough, but it was only five in the morning and Gus could get up to quite a lot in fourteen hours.

 

                There was a long breath beside him, the sheets rustling as Gus stretched. Jesse stayed focused on the ceiling as the soft tickle of lips on his neck set off a current along his skin. Gus swept his hand all the way up Jesse’s body to land on his chest. Almost immediately, a barbell was plucked. It was like the guy had never seen nipple piercings before, the way he carried on.

 

                “Good morning,” Gus said in his dulcet timbre, a spring from the depths of the earth. He leaned over Jesse and smiled, dropped his head to kiss him but Jesse turned away at the last second and Gus’s lips landed on his jaw.

 

                “How ‘bout we wait till I can finally take a piss,” he complained bitterly. “And you can brush your teeth. Like, I really want to taste ass first thing in the morning.”

 

                There was a heavy pause. Jesse could feel Gus staring at him, trying to work him out. He didn’t like the way Gus would size him up, lecture him on what he needed and how he should be, but at the same time, Gus seemed to understand something inherent in Jesse. He _did_ want direction – from time to time – but from someone who _got_ him. He had looked to Mr. White for some kind of help, some guidance in how he was supposed to process all the shit they’d been put through, how he was supposed to move forward. But Mr. White had only let him down in that area, time and again. There was something primal in Gus’s advice that appealed to Jesse. He would love it if he could tell them all to fuck off, if he could simply let Walter walk off into the desert and let Gus bury him there. His life would be so much easier. He had tried it before, to be the hard-ass, to not give a shit, but it had only landed him in worse trouble. And Jesse had enough self-awareness to know that there were some things that he just couldn’t let go.

 

                Another rustle beside him, and then there was a light touch at his ankle, followed by a click. Gus peeled away the lined leather and Jesse sprang off the bed, rounding the bed in a jog as he made his way to the bathroom. He slammed the door behind him as he hustled to the toilet, but the stream had barely begun when the door was whooshed open, Gus striding in as if he was needed there.

 

                “Um, excuse me. Do you mind?” he snapped, but Gus went to the sink, turned on the faucet as he prepped his toothbrush. Gus brushed his teeth as Jesse pissed, the torrent hitting the bowl quite loudly in the small room. He had needed to go for a while.

 

                “We should go for a longer run, today,” Gus said in between brushing and spitting. “It’s a little cooler out this morning. We can go around the park, as well.”

 

                “Knock yourself out,” he commented as he shook his prick a few times, flushing the toilet before turning to squeeze his hands under the tap’s flow while Gus bent his head to spit again. Some of the water splashed onto Gus’s head and Jesse smirked wickedly. “Yeah, however far you want to go, is cool with me. I may be a little out of shape, but I’ll catch up. I could use a smoke, though, before we leave.”

 

                Gus splashed more water on his face, grabbed a towel to dry it. He was wearing only the pajama bottoms, the double strand of gold chains at his neck glinting on warm, hazelnut skin. Jesse, of course, was still naked. But taking a peek at Gus’s chest, he was slightly impressed with how fit the man had kept himself. He could see his own top half in the bathroom mirror and was made uneasy by the comparison. His arms were pipe cleaners next to Gus’s. It was kind of disgraceful being shown up by an old guy in his fifties.

 

                “A cigarette before a run will do you no favors,” Gus said. He switched toothbrushes, ran a line of paste on to the fresh one and held it out towards Jesse. “Open up.”

 

                “Uh, I can brush my own teeth, thanks,” Jesse noted. “Just give it here.”

 

                But Gus pressed a hand to his hip and directed him a few steps back. He reached behind him to close the lid on the toilet and made Jesse sit down on the cold plastic. “I said open up,” he repeated with a frown. There was something different in his tone today, Jesse decided. He was already acting like a badass. This did not bode well for the afternoon.

 

                “Fine,” he huffed, and dropped his mouth part way. He was relieved that Gus had pants on, particularly with a prominent bulge present, but the associations with the request had him anxious. He wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do once Gus started demanding return blowjobs.

 

                It was bad enough the way Gus brushed his teeth, shoving the head all the way to his back row of molars then sliding it in and out of his mouth lewdly as he brushed the sides. Jesse felt like an idiot sitting there getting mouth raped by a toothbrush and started to fume. He glanced at the sink’s cabinet doors, recalling Gus’s mandate that he get douched in the mornings, and his resentment gathered around him like a cloud of wasps.

 

                When Gus finally let him get up to spit into the sink, the man’s hands were back on his hips, sliding up to his nipples again to tweak at the barbells. _Seriously, dude, get a life._

 

                “These are looking well. No swelling, no irritation. I will swab them with some antiseptic now but make sure you keep this up for the next few days,” he instructed. Gus grabbed at his dick again, stroked it once as he held it skyward. “I am looking forward to next Friday very much. Ernesto does incredible work.” He darted a cold glance to Jesse’s face in the mirror. “You will be ready this time,” he asserted – not a question, simply a fact.

 

                “I’m counting the days,” Jesse said sarcastically, but not untruthfully. “Hey, uh, where’s your mouthwash? And your floss? Good dental hygiene is important, you dig? I need my ritual.”

 

                “They are down in the kitchen,” he explained. “I use it after my morning coffee. You can have it when we get back.”

 

                He let Gus dab at his chest, ignoring the chill. When he was finally allowed to go back into the other room, he curled up on the bed feeling suddenly tired. Gus made a beeline for his dresser, started opening drawers as he pulled bits of clothes free. Jesse watched him with interest in the large mirror that sat atop it, Gus’s concentration an intimidating sight. He disappeared into his sacred closet for a moment, came back out with a plastic package from the department store. He tossed it at Jesse.

 

                “What you asked for. Now get dressed.”

 

                Jesse sat up, pulled the cellophane wrapped underwear towards him and then split open its top. He slid out the cardboard insert, staring in horror at the brightly colored jockstrap secured around it. The color was garish enough but there was a name in bold block letters across the top, the bands to hold it up split into two rows.

 

                “What the hell is this?” he demanded to know.

 

                “You said you wanted some support. So I got it for you,” Gus replied as if he were speaking to a slow-witted child.

 

                “Uh, this thing is _turquoise._ Like, bright turquoise, too. And what’s all this shit all over it?”

 

                “This is a good brand. Stop complaining and put them on or I will do it for you.”

 

                Jesse rolled his eyes, his irritation still pressed to his face. He got up to slide them on. They hugged his ass in quite a grip, but the cup for his bits up front was a silky, clingy material. He turned to Gus and got a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

 

                “This has got to be the gayest jockstrap on the planet,” he announced. “What the hell is it even made of? It’s all soft and shit.”

 

                “It’s a microfiber,” Gus answered. “Very breathable, and good for your skin.”

 

                 “I feel like there should be a stripper pole in the room for me to spin on,” he bitched. “Seriously, this is not the kind of gear you wear to a locker room. I’m just sayin’.” He grabbed hold of the track pants to put them on and cover up the monstrosity, before realizing they were shorts. He clenched his jaw again, but got dressed quickly. Gus had gone back into the closet and he strode out with a Nike shoe box.

 

                “Here, put these on.”

 

                The socks inside were a girlie-style, sans pom pom. By the time Jesse had the sneakers on he was ready for the run. He needed to burn off his build-up of aggression. In the light of day, it was hard to stay terrified when his mortification was so great.

 

                When they got outside, it was still pretty dark, just the barest ethereal glow in the sky. Jesse made a point of doing a full stretch this time, sitting on the wet grass to extend his legs in a vee and grab at each ankle, his head bowing to his knee. He wasn’t about to let Gus kick his ass again. It was true that he needed to work on his stamina. Too much partying had gotten him lazy. If he had any hope in hell to beat Gus at his own game, he had to be ready for him. He breathed out as he switched legs, already feeling the calming effect of the exercise.

 

                Gus was still doing his weird yoga poses, but Jesse ignored him and went through the warm-up his coach had shown him years ago. It felt good after the intense abuse his muscles had endured the day before. The images from the gym knocked about his mind like marbles as he stood up and held his arms over his head, but he shut his eyes and forced himself to think of anything else. Andrea smiling at him as she leaned across his chest. Brock laughing at the dinner table. Badger and Skinny Pete arguing over zombies. Jane taking a long drag off of her cigarette, a wicked glint in her eyes as she looked him over. The shape of her mouth in a moan when he had fucked her. He felt suddenly lonely, standing out on Gus’s front lawn like he’d just been let out of prison.

 

                “Are you ready?” Gus asked.

 

                “Yeah, sure,” he replied wistfully. He hadn’t been ready for any of this, but he realized he’d have to get there soon. Jesse was running out of time.

 

                They took off together, Jesse keeping in pace with Gus instead of speeding ahead this time. It was chilly out, but Jesse didn’t mind the breeze on his legs. It made him alert, and he needed to be alert around Gus, no matter what. He thought about the rest of the day – what Gus was likely to expect from him. The vial was tucked away safely, but would Gus have cause to go through his pockets? Would Jesse be able to find someplace to keep the vial on him throughout the day, in case he got a window of opportunity? The night before could have been his only moment, he thought despondently, if Gus was planning on making him walk around naked or in a towel again. He had to find a way to construct his own chances.

 

                By the time they had rounded the second half of the block, Jesse was still in step next to Gus, breathing heavier but otherwise feeling fairly good. He let everything in his head disperse, just watched the passing neighborhood with a sense of appreciation for the outside. It was getting just as claustrophobic in his house as it was in Gus’s. He needed to go out more. Maybe take Andrea and Brock to the park during the week.

 

                They were coming down the last road before the turn off to Gus’s street when Gus patted him on the arm and pointed to the entrance to a forested area up on their left. It was a park that ran along the side of the neighborhood, but it looked like they were cutting through a back way, a small path through the break in the fence leading into the trees. Jesse followed him into the park, the recreational trail taking them through an arch of cottonwoods. The light in the sky was still only a bloom, the slight incandescence of the sun slowly tinting the wispy streaks of clouds.

 

                Five minutes into the trail, Jesse heard a scuffle ahead, followed by a deep grunting. He felt alarmed at first, expecting to run into a bear, but Gus encircled fingers around his elbow to pull him to the farthest edge of the dirt. As they passed the tree where the ruckus sounded, Jesse saw two dark figures bent over each other, one holding on to the trunk. A face turned to them in surprise, only to break into a grin a second later.

 

                “This your new boy, Gus?” the man whispered as he continued his violent thrusts into the guy underneath him. Gus said nothing but kept running, looking straight ahead. Jesse looked back with disgust at the both of them, shooting a bird in their direction.

 

                “Ooh, bring him back. We want a go,” the man snickered. Jesse halted to a dead stop and turned towards them, intent on going back to kick the guy’s ass, but Gus took hold of his arm again and dragged him along the path. The men laughed while returning to their frantic copulation.

 

                “Who the fuck is that guy?” he snarled to his running companion.

 

                “He’s no one you need to concern yourself with,” Gus huffed. “He’s a _puta._ Disgraceful animals. Ignore them.”

 

                Jesse stared ahead and let the guy’s creepy suggestion slide off him. That anyone, even park fucker dude, would consider him Gus’s ‘boy’ was not a pleasant thought. Once they made it out of the proper entrance to the park, Jesse had to stop and rest, finally winded. But he was happy that he had lasted as long as he had.

 

                “Wait, whoa,” he breathed, his chest heaving while he grabbed at a stitch in his side. “How many miles is that? Like, five or six?”

 

                Gus checked his sports watch by pressing a button on the side. “Two and half,” he said.

 

                “What? No way. That was a mile through the park, at least.”

 

                “Yes, but not much more before that. Don’t worry, you will build up to a good distance soon enough.” He came over to him and slapped at the side of Jesse’s thigh, then grasped it tight. “You have a nice stride. Very good legs for a runner, very lithe. You should never have given it up,” he said sagely. His hand slid under Jesse’s shorts, ran it over his ass. “This is the perfect exercise for right here. Give you some meat on these haunches.”

 

                Jesse pulled Gus’s hand away with a barely tolerant expression. “Yeah, like I need to give you more of a reason to climb up into my asshole.” He bent down to retie his shoelace.

 

                He expected Gus’s displeasure to come in an instant, but the man only smiled graciously. “Do you think you can make it all the way to the house?” he teased.

 

                “Yeah, I can make it. I’ll make it before you,” he sassed, suddenly leaping from the ground as if a shot had been fired. He sped off, taking great satisfaction in leaving Gus behind to eat his dust.

 

                “You are going the wrong way,” Gus called out to him. _Fucking asshole._ Jesse slowed to a stop with his feet slapping loudly on the ground. He headed back towards Gus, who had now turned to follow the street going west. Jesse came up beside him and stayed in formation, his cheeks hot as Gus gave him another small smile, stifling his amusement.

 

                When they got a block from the house, Jesse started to speed up again, pumping his arms with more determination as he spotted the columns on the veranda ahead. He heard Gus coming up behind him and he ran faster, pushing himself as hard as he could. There was a burning in his throat and in his chest, but he relished it, loving the rush as he listened to the zip of the wind in his ears. He got to the grass, felt Gus breathing heavy right behind him, almost on top of him. Jesse kept going, right up to the door, until he all but slammed into it, raising his hand to smash at the wood.

 

                “Ha! I won! I made it first, bitch!” he yelled in gleeful spite. Gus had run off to the side, leaning on his knees by the window as he sought to catch his breath.

 

                “Keep it down,” he said finally, once he was able to walk back to the door. “People are still sleeping.”

 

                “Whatever. You’re just a sore loser,” Jesse gloated. “I’m not as out of shape as you thought, huh?”

 

                “Good,” Gus responded. “That means you will be up to the task for later.”

 

                Jesse’s spoiled grin quickly turned serious. “What? Like, what task? I mean, we’re not … you’re not slinging me up again, are you? Yo, that shit hurts.”

 

                Gus had opened the door and left him standing there as he made way for the kitchen.

 

                “Gus? What does that mean?” he asked again as he hurried in, closing the door behind him. When he came into the kitchen, Gus was downing water from a bottle. Another opportunity gone.

 

                “And for the record – that mirror thing? That was gross. If it’s that important to you to look up my butt hole, then by all means, be my guest, dude, but I don’t got to look at that.”

 

                The refrigerator door opened as Gus took out another bottle, seeming to glide towards Jesse. “You will look at whatever I want you to look at,” Gus said with authority. He pulled at the waistband of Jesse’s shorts and snapped them back. “Take these off,” he ordered.

 

                Jesse gave a great, suffering sigh before he bent to pull them down in one tug. He toed the material off of his shoes, kicked them to Gus with a step to the floor. Gus took hold of the hem at his shirt and ruffled it.

 

                “And this.”

 

                When Jesse was down to a jockstrap and sneakers, Gus pressed a hand to his shoulder and Jesse felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. “Kneel down,” he told him. Jesse knelt down on the hard tile, moving slowly and staring off to the refrigerator, his throat suddenly dry. He had finally seen the faces in the photograph under the magnet. It had been Gus and one of his girls when she was little, the two of them laughing into the camera.

 

                “Open your mouth,” Gus said, emotionless. He unscrewed the cap on the bottle. Jesse did as he was told, but Gus put a hand to his forehead, tilted it back. Jesse closed his eyes, not sure what he was supposed to prepare for, but a second later his mouth was filled with cold water. He choked as it went down his windpipe, then swallowed a huge gulpful. He tried to keep his mouth open as the pouring continued but his throat would close instinctively when the water went up his nose and he started to cough again. Gus held the bottle lower until it was right between his lips and Jesse could suck on its mouth. Finally, Gus straightened the plastic bottle, allowing Jesse to breathe normally as he gulped the last of it.

 

                “Jesus! What the hell?” he complained as he wiped his chin. “Oh, I don’t get to drink like a real person, now?”

 

                Gus pointed to the puddle on the floor as he screwed the cap back on. “You should clean that up before someone slips.”

 

                Since he didn’t offer a towel, Jesse grabbed the shirt angrily and started to wipe up the spill, still on his knees. He was starting to feel that this was going to be another tough day, only there would be a lot more of it. He just hoped there wouldn’t be any more horror stories.

 

                Gus had disappeared downstairs, so Jesse reluctantly followed, feeling foolish striding around the house in a garish jockstrap with a handful of wet clothes. He wondered briefly if he should try to grab the vial now, but he had really nowhere to put it. The stupid sock around his prick had barely enough material to hold his junk in.

 

                When he waltzed into the gym room, the configuration was still the same, making him feel instantly nervous. But then Gus was picking up the bench on the other side of the bar and he nodded towards Jesse to grab the other end. Jesse dropped the wet clothes against the wall and walked over quickly, hopeful that this was going to be an actual exercise session and not something perverse. They slid the bench back up to the weights, and Gus had him help move the bars back to the wall. The pile of chain link was still there, but Jesse gave it a wide berth as though it were a group of slithering asps waiting to strike.

 

                “I used my clothes to wipe the water up,” he admitted. “You got something else I can put on?”

 

                 Gus pointed to the jockstrap. “This is fine. Let’s work on the weights again.”

 

                 Jesse supposed he had it coming, but he still tried to avoid his reflection in the mirror as he moved to the bench. He really did look like queer city.

 

                Most of the following hour was spent with Gus spotting Jesse on the barbells. He seemed particularly eager to add on more weights, but Jesse welcomed each disk, thinking of the power behind his fist once his arms had gained some extra muscle. The fist he’d like to put through a couple of faces. He thought about his fight with Mr. White. He didn’t even know if he was angry at the man anymore. If he’d listened to him, Jesse wouldn’t be playing slave boy to their enemy right now. Gus seemed to enjoy instructing him, too. His fingers moved as he spoke, gliding down Jesse’s side or up his arm as he guided Jesse to lift the bar higher. By the time Jesse got to sit up again, he was wiped out, his arms like jelly and his stomach muscles screaming, but in a good way.

 

                “Let’s hit the shower, then,” Gus said, waving him towards the small bathroom. Jesse stayed quiet as he got behind Gus, stepping into the small room with a skip of his heartbeat. He almost preferred the bath. There was something way too intimate about the two of them squeezed into the tiny stall.

 

                Gus immediately began to undress, filling the hamper with his cast offs. Jesse thought about his bundle of clothes soaking into the carpet and went to retrieve them. When he walked back in, Gus was staring at him myopically, his glasses already sitting on the basin’s edge. Jesse leaned over to dump the wet ball into the hamper as well then started to slip off his shoes. He had just peeled away his socks when Gus stood behind him, fingers hooking underneath the straps holding the cup and pulling them down. Jesse froze for a moment, bent awkwardly at the waist as he waited for Gus to finish. There was a light slap on his rump.

 

                “In the bath with you,” Gus said, the water already running.

 

                Jesse got in first, not even bothering with an attitude. He was feeling fatigued now, the exercise catching up to him. The hot stream on his back was instantly soothing, the hard jets of water massaging his soreness away. As Gus got in with him, Jesse turned to the wall, let the water hit square at the top of his head so that it ran down all the sides of his face. He spit towards the tile, gasping for breath as the heat enveloped him. He felt hands at his hips shift him so that he was moved closer to the wall, only half under the water for a moment as Gus drenched himself. Jesse kept his palms pressed to the cool tiles while Gus rubbed him down with a soapy wash cloth, let his forehead do the same when Gus spread his legs and shoved the cloth between the globes of his ass.

 

                He was turned around, the cloth rough as it was run over his torso and groin then down his legs. Gus was kneeling before him as he made Jesse stand with feet wider apart. He was pushed under the stream to let the soap run down and Jesse started to feel like the rag doll again, being dragged around and put into whatever positions his host desired. Jesse kept his eyes closed until the cold wall was at his back again, Gus still down in front of him. It wasn’t surprising when he felt his cock being handled, felt a mouth surround him. Gus’s rhythm was meandering as he sucked Jesse off, like they had all day for this, and Jesse sighed wistfully, not sure if he was relieved this was happening or just resigned to it.

 

                Once Gus dipped his head to mouth Jesse’s scrotum, his fingers circled the spot that Jesse knew those fingers were destined to end up. Or perhaps Gus would just fuck him right here in the shower. The information didn’t even seem to bother him, as he drifted along the bubble of calm that had sprung up in his center. The sound of the water echoing around their small space filled his head, as Gus took more of him down his throat, two fingers finally entering him. Gus started to get a little excited, started pumping his mouth over him faster while he penetrated Jesse deep enough that he felt the bump of Gus’s knuckles. Suddenly, there was a slap to the inside of his thighs, and Jesse felt like he was pulled awake from a dream.

 

                “Lift these up. Put your feet here,” Gus instructed, smacking at a spot on the edge of the wall. Jesse didn’t understand.

 

                “Huh?”

 

                Gus put his hand under Jesse’s leg and lifted it himself, moved down so that he could take hold of Jesse’s ankle and guided his foot to press against the tiles midway down the wall. He patted his other leg and Jesse got an inkling of what Gus was expecting. He looked above his head for something to grab on to, saw the shower’s neck and curled his fingers around it to hoist himself up, his back pressed into the corner while the other foot braced the far ridge, where the tile met the metal bar of the door. There was a tight spooling of muscle in the backs of his legs as he stretched himself this way, but Gus was already on him, holding up Jesse’s thighs as he went back to blowing him. Soon Jesse felt the slithering tongue spiraling around his hole, only to feel it pierce him a beat later. He slapped a hand to the top of the shower’s ledge, where the shampoo bottles sat, to hold his weight up as tremors raced through his legs and arms. He pushed his feet against the walls with all of his strength as Gus tongue-fucked him with more urgency. Jesse heard his own deep moan drown out the rush of the water, and he had that single thought again, the idea that he wanted this.

 

                The next time he moaned was even louder, a trilling in the back of his throat, as Gus went to work with a purpose. Jesse’s testicles were stuffed in Gus’s mouth again and the doubled fingers were fucking him furiously, angling in different spots each time. There was a bloom of tightness in his nipples where he was speared, and Jesse hung there, mouth open and legs spread as he gave voice to everything he was feeling, like he was Wendy putting on a show for her john, only this was real, this was him being the whore, being overwhelmed and dirty and ashamed, the sounds rolling out of him suggesting nothing other than aching need, that he was begging for this. There was a welling up inside of him, his orgasm building, and Jesse vividly recalled the way Gus had fucked him on the bench, the slow, steady rise of pleasure spreading across his nerves, a map of wires along his back shooting out signals that said only one thing: _fuck me, fuck me, fuck me._

                 “Oh, _God,”_ he cried, feeling the heaviness of tears, when in an instant everything stopped, the whirlwind dying down to a stillness. Gus stood in front of him and Jesse blinked in confusion as the man brought his legs down, made him stand up straight.

 

                “We are done here,” Gus said, in complete seriousness. Jesse looked down at Gus’s erection, and then at his own.

 

                “Okay,” was all he could think of to say, his thoughts muddled like they were mired in sludge. Gus shut off the water and opened the door, leading Jesse out by the hand. When he’d dried Jesse off, he cupped his hands around Jesse’s jaw and Jesse felt a strange sense of longing at the gesture.

 

                “I need you to go upstairs, to the bath in my room. I want you to drop yourself over the side, do you understand? Let your stomach rest on the edge, the top of your body in the well. I need to finish cleaning you when I come up, but I have some things to do first.”

 

                “Like, now?” he asked in a daze, his hard-on feeling tight and insistent.

 

                “Yes, now.” Gus shooed him away and Jesse left the room feeling like he was completely stoned on some of that really good shit out of California, the kind they reserved for the cancer patients. He was loopy enough that getting up the stairs proved difficult – he kept missing the steps and had to hold on to the walls on either side of him.

 

                He wasn’t even sure how he managed to make it into Gus’s bathroom, but as he stared at the bath and then the floor a brief vision of the vial inserted itself into his brain, the background lit up in red neon, pulsing danger. He glanced back to his jeans hanging on Gus’s hook. Would he be able to get to it before Gus made another meal? If he was getting fucked now, could that mean he might be allowed to get dressed to sit at the table? Jesse heard Gus enter the room, could see him move around by the closet through the wedge in the partially closed bathroom door, and quickly perched himself over the bath’s rim. He let his head lay on the bottom, enjoying the press of the porcelain into his guts as he dropped his full weight in the tub, spreading his legs open before Gus instructed him to. His heart was racing but it felt distant and removed from anything that he was actually experiencing at the moment, the heartbeat in his prick more relevant and declarative.

 

                The door was opened and Gus strode in, heels clicking on the floor. Jesse turned his head as he heard Gus pull the stuff he needed from under the sink and saw that he was back in his uniform, without the heavy coat. The truncheon was placed on the sink’s edge as Gus fiddled with the bag and Jesse finally felt his nerves seize up, wondering just what Gus had planned. This was going to be more than just sex, he assumed.

 

                When Gus turned around, Jesse dropped his head back in the tub and closed his eyes, keeping his legs spread as wide as he could stand.

 

                “Very good,” Gus commented. “But bring yourself up a bit. This is too much pressure on your organs.” He pried a hand under Jesse’s hip and made him pull back so that his weight was better distributed. Jesse kept his eyes shut tightly, trying to think of something other than the job Gus was performing on him, but the nozzle head and the warm flush of warm water inside him only made his dick harder. It throbbed angrily as though it were displeased that it wasn’t currently being sucked on.

 

                After Gus was done, he brought Jesse back to the bed, made him lay down with legs wide again, feet on the mattress’s lip. There was the heavy clunk of the trolley wheeling across carpet giving Jesse another bout of dread. This meant the heavy duty stuff. As if to confirm, Gus brought up another ball contraption, with a slightly different design than the one used on him the day before. The slim metal circle was unsnapped by a spring somewhere on its side, and Jesse felt it encircling his prick and the root of his testicles. He turned his head to the side and hummed in distraction as the ball was fitted, feeling somehow larger. When Gus made him sit up, he felt dizzy, his head swimming as black dots appeared in his vision.

 

                “Jesse, I need you to look at me,” Gus said softly. Jesse tried to focus on him, Gus’s face wavering like a television screen for a moment. It looked like he was seated on a chair. “Jesse. Listen to me carefully.” He felt a sharp twist at his nipple and instantly the fog cleared as he cried out. “Are you listening?”

 

                “Yea- _yeah._ I got it.”

 

                “Good. I need you to understand this.” He stroked the side of Jesse’s cheek affectionately. “I shared those stories with you to help you understand. So that you see that we can … survive anything, Jesse, if we have the will and the mind for it. I saw it many times. I _felt_ it many times. You think that your world has shattered, but you put it back together … slowly, until you can live amongst the unknowing, live in their world and not let it affect it you any longer.”

 

                “I – I don’t know what you’re saying,” he told Gus, sounding like he was slurring. He just wanted to come. The pulsing was in his head now, as well as his ass, his prick like a mean little drunk.

 

                “You are a survivor, Jesse. I need you to believe this.” Gus held Jesse’s chin tightly, made him look in his eyes, and for a moment, they were all Jesse could see. “Say this with me. Tell me what you are.”

 

                “I’m a survivor,” Jesse repeated, his voice hollow and far away.

 

                “You can take anything. This life is hard, but you … you are the stream, Jesse. You flow over the rocks and the pain, they go right through you. Do you understand? This pain … it is nothing. It will pass. But in its place, you can find something deep and wondrous. You can swim in pleasure that is unfathomable, and you can let all of this unpleasantness simply float away. You have to see it, Jesse.” He ran his hand down Jesse’s throat, let it rest at the pulse at his clavicle. “I have wanted you to feel this pleasure. I made sure to give you a release every time you have come to me. I don’t want to deny things from you, Jesse. You don’t need chemicals, to get high – _I can give you this._ We can do this together. But you must show me something first. Will you do this for me?”

 

                “I – I don’t know.” Jesse felt very confused, suddenly concerned with all of Gus’s talk about pain. “What is it you want from me?”

 

                 “I want you to be strong.”

 

                “Uh, sure. I – I can be strong. I guess.”

 

                “You must believe this, Jesse. You can do this. Let me show you what you are.”

 

                 It was starting to annoy him now, this lofty Jedi talk that Gus was dropping on him. If Gus wasn’t going to fuck him, then he just needed to get on with it already, so Jesse could get the hell out of there when his time was up. “ _Fine._ Whatever. Are you gonna start this sometime today, or what?”

 

                Gus didn’t say anything more, just stared at him for a handful of seconds before leaning over to his trolley. He made Jesse lean back on the flat of his hands while peering closely at the piercings. There was further fiddling with his nipples, and Jesse tipped his head back, stared at the ceiling as his impatience reared up again. Gus was doing something to them, and eventually Jesse tucked his chin in to see what he was doing.

 

                “You changing them?” he asked in curiosity.

 

                “Adding the hoops,” Gus said, twisting one of the posts on the barbell so that a gold hoop hung at his nipple.

 

                “Why you doing that? They looked better the other way.” He watched as Gus did the final one then reached for something heavy from his tray. Jesse’s heart sunk when he saw the next item.

 

                “Uh, wait a minute. Are you … you’re not serious, are you? That’s like, so lame. A ballgag? I mean, you think that’s scary? Housewives use that shit.”

 

                “It is better for this,” Gus said calmly, standing up to wrap it around to the back of Jesse’s head. Jesse panicked for a moment, hating the feel of it in his mouth, the way it stretched it open leaving it immediately dry and his jaw tense. The ball was even a basic red, totally lacking in imagination. He expected scarier from Gus, but then, this was distressing enough. He muttered something experimentally, to see what sounds came out from behind the block. It made his tongue hurt.

 

                “Get on your hands and knees now,” Gus directed, pointing to the end of the bed for which way he was to turn. Jesse climbed up on all fours and saw himself in the mirror over Gus’s dresser. He rolled his eyes in aggravation. He couldn’t get away from these fucking mirrors. Gus pulled something long and black from the bottom tray and got behind Jesse before he could see anything else. He mumbled through the gag, as if he expected Gus to understand him.

 

                “Don’t worry, this won’t take long,” Gus answered. He got on the bed behind Jesse and took hold of the backs of his shins, spreading him wider. Something was wrapped around one knee and buckled tight, but when he felt it on the other leg, he got worried. There was something between the two. He couldn’t close his legs. A bar was keeping them open. He sounded his alarm.

 

                 “You need to not move around so much,” he was told. He felt Gus come down off the bed, felt familiar bands wrapped at his ankles, the tinkle of chains soon following.

 

 _“Mmmm, Hrrmmmm,”_ he demanded. He was already getting tired of being chained up. Then Gus was in front of him and Jesse blinked in surprise.

 

                “You need to put your hands up here.” Gus had him hold the top of the frame as more bands were snapped around his wrists and he was clipped near the finial at each end. His cock dragged along the duvet leaving wet marks, the cincture at its base making Jesse want to shake it free. He pulled at his binds, his guttural queries not making any sense.

 

                “Trust me and you will be fine. Remember, it is all in the mind. You can do this, Jesse.”

 

                When Gus brought out another length of chain, Jesse wasn’t sure where it was expected to go. But then Gus ran the end through one of the hoops at his nipple and Jesse got upset very quickly. He screamed his displeasure around the ball in his mouth.

 

                “It is not as bad as you think,” Gus soothed as he pulled the chain through the second hoop, clipping it to one of the holes in the bed’s frame. “It can feel quite good, if you pay attention.” The other end of the chain was secured, so that it was shortened enough to strain the hoops. He was dragged forward, his nipples pulled taut, and Jesse feared to move any more lest he rip something off.

 

                Gus disappeared behind him again and he turned his head each way, straining to see what else was coming. At this point, he was wide awake and alert, desperate to know what the final outcome of this little stunt was going to be, Gus’s words to him at the beginning now very important. He felt a hand around his scrotum, felt the leather strip snap closed under the cock ring, the tug on his balls as it was chained to the bar between his legs making him feel the final bit of indignation. He couldn’t move at all. He yelled through the gag and felt an immediate bloom of pain to his backside. Jesse saw his eyes go huge in the mirror, saw Gus behind him pull back the baton again. Another bolt of pain hit below his ass, right on this thigh. He felt the vibration of his scream from his head to his chest. There was another blow, lower on the other leg, and this time Jesse had to squirm, had to try to get away from it.

 

                But then Gus stood back. Jesse watched him in the mirror, watched as he stroked the end of the baton along his back, the feel of it disconnected from what he was seeing in the mirror, as though two different events were happening to Jesse. Gus pressed a hand at the dimple at the top of his ass, used the baton to split him wider. He felt the tip of it press to his hole and started to fight against his restraints again, calling out to Gus for mercy even though he wasn’t able to voice any coherent words.

 

                Gus walked away, disappearing into his closet. Jesse felt himself shaking, his legs squeezing with all their might to close them. His knees lifted off the bed for a moment, as Jesse pulled back, the pain in his nipples immediately stopping him. Looking into the mirror again, Jesse felt horrified when he saw Gus exit the closet with something else in his hand. It was as clichéd as the ball gag, but he knew it was going to hurt like hell. Gus whipped it across the air first, so that Jesse could hear the tails snap like teeth. He called out to Gus once more, hoping that he might get a last minute reprieve.

 

                The first lash was fire streaking across his skin. He screamed until his throat felt raw, watched as Gus brought the cat down again, the feeling of his flesh being sliced open coming a moment later. He couldn’t avoid not moving now, and as he tried to escape another lashing, the pain in his chest increased, so that Jesse could see his nipples being stretched grotesquely from his body, skin being pulled like it was caught in a hook. The next lash hit the back of his thigh, then another, and Jesse couldn’t catch his breath, felt his body light up like it was being burned from the inside, his chest a cave desperate for air.

 

                Gus stopped, stared at Jesse through the glass. “Remember what I said. Pay attention to your body, Jesse.” He leaned down and Jesse felt the grip around his balls. “Feel it in here. And here, inside.” Gus had put a hand underneath him to hold it against his pelvic bone, just atop of his prick, then one to the metal line that ran into his ass. “This is what you want. Where you want to be.”

 

                When the whip came down the next time, Jesse concentrated on his dick, on the pressure in his ass. He cried out, but it was less frantic, less heated. Gus suddenly climbed on the bed, and Jesse saw his head bend down, felt Gus rimming his asshole before shoving his tongue inside. Jesse strained against the bar again, only this time he tried to make his legs widen. He wanted to feel Gus’s tongue buried deep, to take away the sting he felt everywhere else. Gus began to saw in and out of him, and Jesse moved with him, thrusting his ass against that tongue as he growled behind the gag. Gus stroked delicate fingers along his hard cock and Jesse floated briefly, wanted to be held in the palm of that hand.

 

                But then Gus was back on his knees, commanding and terrifying in the mirror’s reflection. He brought the cat down on Jesse’s back, on his ass, then took hold of his thigh, pulled it away as he whacked at the taut sac of Jesse’s balls. Jesse howled, his eyes practically popping out of his head, the image of it surreal as Jesse gawked at himself, watching the saliva drip from his mouth in a long stream until it landed on the bed. Something seemed to be set off in Gus, and then he was on his feet, the whip cracking and the tails landing all over Jesse. He couldn’t escape its fury; his head now filled with one long buzzing noise, the sounds from his throat no longer part of his consciousness. Everything was on fire, flames licking his skin, his body one giant pulsing, throbbing cock as he saw Gus get behind him again, saw him unbuckle his pants. Jesse wanted to weep, closed his eyes with tears caught in his lashes as he waited for Gus to pull the ball from his ass, to finally fuck him into oblivion so he could remove all of this pain.

 

                Gus wrapped himself around him, till his chin was at Jesse’s shoulder. He studied him in the mirror, turned to kiss him, lick away a tear that had escaped. “You want me to do this,” he whispered to Jesse. Jesse shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “Yes,” Gus intoned. “I know that you do. It is alright. I can give you what you need. I will provide your pleasure, Jesse. You can always come to me to find it.”

 

                He heard the belt clang as pants were pulled down. Jesse expected the feel of the weight in his rectum to be removed at any second, but it never came. Instead, he felt Gus’s tongue on him again, felt a gob of spit land as the room pulsed around him. Gus’s dick was pressed to him and Jesse’s eyes flew open. He was staring into Gus’s, those eyes like black holes consuming him, feeling Gus penetrate him with the metal ball still in place. Gus went deep, all the way to the root, and Jesse felt the ball move against parts of him he hadn’t realized were there. Gus hooked a hand to Jesse’s shoulder, pulled him back with the thrust so that his nipples were stretched tight. Jesse moaned so long it coiled around him like smoke. His body still burned, inside and out, but then Gus was licking his neck, nibbling at his shoulder, kissing his back. He started to bang against Jesse’s body and Jesse felt himself buck underneath him, his arms exhausted as he held his weight up. Gus fucked him harder, deeper, one hand ghosting over Jesse’s furious erection. The room shuttered before him, like the eye of a camera, and Jesse started to feel the stretch in his nipples with anticipation on every pull back. It felt good. He moved with Gus, the two of them gaining momentum, their rhythm speeding up. Gus would stop for a moment, hold Jesse tight as he pushed deeper, biting at Jesse’s earlobe or the nape of his neck.

 

                Jesse watched his reflection, saw the face as if it were another person, but he detected the moment of change when it happened, noted the way his lids slunk low, looking like he was ready to be fucked like a little bitch. Gus was stroking his dick again and Jesse _purred._ He wanted it harder, wanted Gus to slam into him so that he could feel that ball make his brain shoot sparks. The glide over his skin was silky and hot, but Jesse thrust into it, watching his nipples extend with fascination as Gus pulled him as far back as the chains would allow.

 

                The images in the mirror warped before him, swirled and shifted, as his sight grew fuzzy. Gus kissed him with a frenzied worship along the back of his shoulders, started to move fast enough that the bed rocked, the headboard slamming into the wall like the noisy machinery in a factory. His hearing went out for a moment, and suddenly it was as if his body had been filled with light, like he’d been lifted into the air, shocks going off like firecrackers in his chest, in his cock, in his balls. He saw his awed expression for a single second, the moment frozen for a breath, until the sensation whirled around and dived through him. He groaned like he was dying, more spittle hanging off of his chin, as the climax batted around his insides. He could see Gus still moving, thought he heard him shout his release in a room miles away.

 

                Then he was fading. The room grew darker. Cool waves lapped at Jesse’s head as he drifted off, finally falling, his hands no longer able to hold on to anything. He saw Gus catch him right before his eyes closed and the room went black, while he floated away into the bliss.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Justin, thank you so much! That's very kind of you to say, and I'm happy that you are finding their growing relationship as interesting as the rest.
> 
> Serafinafour, I agree! I think that way that Jesse was the player everyone needed on their side was pretty fascinating, too. Season Four remains my favorite for many reasons, but this one stands out. And please feel free to speculate all you want!
> 
> ZeRunaway, I like the idea about the shampoo but it is addressed in this chapter. The vial is like a talisman for Jesse right now, but even in the show, I never thought that Jesse had a good window to use it. Every supposed opportunity had the chance to get him killed, or kill someone that wasn't Gus, so I understood why he was so reticent about it.
> 
> Here's a gorgeous piece of artwork that summed up season four for me, and is meant to give you a taste of the coming chapters:
> 
> http://i.imgur.com/oVNYD.jpg


	16. The Mark

 

_“Look, Skyler, I don’t know what kind of relationship you picture me having with this person. He – he’s not my friend. I mean, it’s not as if we’re even close.”_

 

 

                It looked like it was going to rain.

 

                There wasn’t a whole lot of rainfall in Albuquerque, so Andrea tended to see it as a bad omen when the clouds got dark overhead. The way the wind would start to whip up, feeling electric, filled her with dread and excitement at the same time. But she didn’t need anything bad right now. Things were finally starting to go well.

 

                “Brock! Hurry up and finish! We’ve got to leave in a few minutes!” she called to her son. She’d picked him up from school at lunchtime to get him ready for his dentist appointment, an event that made her happier than she could ever fully express. This was what regular people did. The middle class. They got to take their kids to a good dentist for regular check-ups. She smiled as she recalled Jesse insisting on it, handing her a wad of bills so that she could take Brock to his guy.

 

                Andrea looked back out of the window as she clutched the curtain. Her smile turned pensive as she thought about Jesse some more. She was worried about him. He hadn’t come by the entire weekend, which hadn’t been like him, not since they started seeing each other again. When she’d called him the night before, he’d sounded groggy and raspy on the phone, begging off coming by because of the stomach flu.

 

                “Baby, let me come see you, then. I can take care of you. I’d like that,” she’d told him.

 

                “Nah, I’m good. I mean, then you got to worry about Brock, and really, you shouldn’t bring him here while I’m like this. It’s – you know, just nasty. I’m sure I’m contagious. Maybe – maybe tomorrow, babe. I’ll probably be okay by then.”

 

                “Are you sure that’s it, Jesse?” she had asked hesitantly. He didn’t sound right. She wanted to see his face, make sure he wasn’t using again.

 

                There had been a pause on the line. “Yeah. Yeah, totally,” he’d finally offered, but she had hung up with alarm bells going off in her head. Andrea thought about the last time she’d been to see him, how perfect it had been. Jesse had taken to handling her with concentrated commitment, and Andrea had loved it, had loved the things Jesse had said to her during the spanking. She felt safe with him. She didn’t want the relationship to get put on standby again as Jesse fell into his problems. She wanted to help him, wanted to share her own messed up feelings with him. He was good for her and for Brock, and she wanted to feel that she was good for Jesse, too.

 

                She frowned at the growing clouds again, her unease expanding with them. There had been that bite mark, too. Andrea didn’t want to think about it too much, had tried to come up with a plausible excuse for it. It had been the week before, when Jesse had had that thing to do on a Saturday. She hadn’t even noticed it when he’d gotten in bed with her that night. It hadn’t been till morning that she’d seen it, on the ridge of his shoulder closest to his neck. At first, she imagined that she had done it to him during sex and had just not realized it. She wanted to believe that. She zoned out when it got intense sometimes, it was possible. But she couldn’t remember doing it, nor any opportunity where it might have occurred. And it couldn’t have been Brock because the mouth was too wide, judging by the span of gouges. Brock didn’t even have all of his teeth in yet. It had been deep, too. Like someone had meant it.

 

                Wondering about the bite mark, however, had made her question Jesse’s newfound insistence on protection. She should have said something from the beginning, but she had been used to it – guys thinking that it was up to her, that they shouldn’t have to bother with a condom. It was a pride thing in her old neighborhood. The gangster boys bragged about their baby mamas. Not that they actually took care of the girls or their kids, but they liked to rack them up like Boy Scout pins on their hoodies. Andrea had been on birth control since she was fifteen, but she’d still managed to get pregnant. For a second, she wondered what a baby with Jesse would look like, could see it squirming in her arms. It would have stunning eyes, to start with. And a sweet face. Jesse would be a good father; she felt it in her bones.

 

                Would he be a good partner, though, was the true question. If he was still sleeping around … Andrea sighed and turned away from the window. She didn’t want to think about it anymore. It had probably been her. Her meth habit had messed with her brain cells and she was simply forgetting things.

 

                “Brock, hurry up! We’re leaving in another few minutes!” She grabbed his jacket out of the front closet to hang on her purse. There was a knock at the door, making her jump. The next instant the doorbell rang throughout the house.

 

                She saw a dark, hulking silhouette through the glass, just a head and shoulders. The head looked rounded and clean shaven, like the person was bald. Andrea put her purse over on the staircase. “Baby, stay where you are, okay?” she called into the living room.

 

                Andrea opened the door to find an older man standing there, indeed with a bald pate. He wore glasses and a beige windbreaker. She recognized him suddenly, saw him framed in Jesse’s door holding it open.

 

                “Yes, can I help you?” she asked.

 

                “Hello, there,” the man began in an unctuous, silky tone. “Yes, I certainly hope so. I’m here to see Jesse.”

 

                Andrea shook her head in confusion. “Jesse? Um, he doesn’t live here. Can I … give you his number?”

 

                The man’s expression changed, looking suddenly bewildered. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and looked at the front. “Well … that’s odd.” He looked around her neighborhood, took another gander at the street number by her door. “I have the right address. He asked me to meet him here at one. He didn’t … mention it?”

 

                Andrea offered a helpful smile. “Uh, no, I’m afraid not. I think he might still be sick, though. Did you speak to him today?” She recalled the man’s begging on Jesse’s lawn and how harried he’d looked. He seemed to be in a much better state. The tape from his nose was gone, a small scab left across the top.

 

                He held up his hands to wave them in front of her. “Oh, look, I’m so sorry. Let me start again. Hi,” he extended one to her and she shook his hand. “My name is Walter. Walter White. I’m a … friend of Jesse’s. It’s, uh, Andrea, right?” She nodded her head. “Anyway, I’ve known his family for years. I’ve been trying to, uh, help him out, lately. Maybe I could,” he looked into the house through the space in the door. “Maybe I could come inside and you could help me find out where he is?” He grimaced. “He’s not … well, he’s not been answering my calls.”

 

                Andrea’s uneasiness returned, feeling instantly leery around the man. Something about the way he had argued with Jesse that night made him seem distrustful. “I – I’m sorry, but I’m just about to go out. I have an appointment for my son,” she explained, her smile apologetic.

 

                “Perhaps, you could call him? See if he’ll answer you. I’m – I’m afraid that Jesse and I – well, we had a bit of a falling out.” Walter rubbed his hands together, looked down at the ground, his face full of concern. “I’m … well, I’m pretty worried about him, right now. I – I don’t know how much you know about Jesse’s past …”

 

                “You think he’s on drugs again?” she asked abruptly, giving voice to her own worries.

 

                The man’s face lit up. “Yes! I’m … _very, very_ concerned for him right now. He – he had a bad patch recently, backslid a little, but … I think it may have gotten worse. His behavior, it’s been somewhat erratic. It’s,” he put his palm across his eyes for a moment, his voice getting higher as a weepy note struck it. “It’s been … difficult to get him to listen to me.” Walter took his hands away, his teeth gritted. His eyes were red and he looked as if might cry. “He’s a good kid, but … he needs help. I’m just trying to help him.”

 

                “Look, I’m worried about him, too, but … I don’t see why he would want to meet you here. It has to be a misunderstanding. Let me just call him real quick, okay? Here, come inside while you wait.”

 

                She let him in against her better judgment, but quickly reached for her phone, dialing up Jesse’s number. “Brock! Are you ready yet?” she called as she listened to it ring. She let it go on until his voice mail came on. “Yeah, you know the drill.”

 

                “Jesse. Hey, it’s me. Um – give me a call when you get this, okay? It’s kind of urgent. Talk to you soon.” She hung up and turned to the man, who was staring into the kitchen. “Well, he’s not picking up for me, either. Maybe he just doesn’t have a connection at the moment,” she suggested.

 

                Walter shrugged, the look on his face doubtful. “Possibly. It’s hard to tell with Jesse. He gets in his moods, right?” he said to her as if she’d agree. “I went by his house yesterday and he wasn’t there. He wasn’t with you, was he?”

 

                “No. We haven’t seen him … well, we didn’t see him over the weekend. Like I said, he’s been sick. Maybe he’s just … maybe it’s not what you think. I can go by there after we’re done with the dentist. He’s had the flu. He could just be wiped out,” she said. It was what she hoped for, at any rate.

 

                Brock came running out of the living room, almost slamming into the man’s leg. “Oh! Hey there!” he said playfully. “Where are _you_ off to, young man?”

 

                Andrea pulled her son back so that her arms wrapped around his shoulders. “Sorry about that. But … we’ve got to get to the dentist,” she repeated. “I’ve got to get going, I’m afraid.”

 

                “Ah. Yes. That’s quite a lot of enthusiasm for the dentist,” he joked, his hands furled into his pockets. “I don’t think my son ever ran that fast to go to his appointments.” He looked behind him to the kitchen again, before taking a glance around the house.

 

                “So, you don’t have any idea why Jesse might have asked me to come here, then?” he asked, as if he hadn’t understood her need to leave.

 

                “I really don’t know why.” The man looked over his shoulder again. “Was there anything else?”

 

                He looked at her dumbfounded, then swiveled again to look at the refrigerator. “Um, I don’t suppose … I could get a drink of water from you? I had to drive quite a ways to get here.” He appeared sheepish, seemingly embarrassed to ask, but Andrea had to get going. She didn’t like the way he was dragging things out.

 

                “I’m sorry, Mr. White, but … we _really_ do need to get going. With traffic, we might be late, at this point.”

 

                “Yes, yes, of course – I’m,” he slapped at his head, appearing compunctious. “I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to bother you. I was just so … worried, you know? I – I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.” He had that watery expression again, but Andrea didn’t know if she believed it.

 

                “Okay, well …” she was slipping Brock’s jacket on, “why don’t I walk you out. If Jesse calls me back on the way, I’ll tell him you came by, okay?”

 

                “Actually – don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to him when he finally gets around to calling. You don’t even have to mention I was here. It’s … I have to let him come to me some times, right? Let him learn to make the first move. I’m sure you understand, Andrea.”

 

                “Yeah, sure.” They stood on the front porch together, Brock staring up at him with big eyes as she locked the front door. “Well, it was nice to meet you.” She held out her hand to shake his hand again. “I – I think Jesse will be okay. He’s just got some stuff on his plate right now,” she explained. “He’s been pretty busy.”

 

                “Well, let’s hope that’s all it is,” the man said with a sad smile. He looked at the house again before turning to head to the grey car by the curb. Andrea waved to him as he got behind the wheel, her other hand gripping Brock’s shoulder. She watched the car drive away, to the end of the street, before pulling open the passenger side. Brock climbed in.

 

                “Who was that, Mami?”

 

                “A friend of Jesse’s,” Andrea said with a frown, slamming the door.

 

******

 

                The doorbell rang again.

 

                “Mama, it’s Jesse!” Brock shouted as he ran up to the door. She stepped out of the kitchen just as he opened it, Jesse standing with his back to them gazing over the lawn, his hands in his pockets. “Jesse! You made it!”

 

                He turned around, the light on the porch casting a yellowish tinge to his skin. He smiled wanly at Brock as she came out into the hall. “Hey, Brock. What’s up, _esse?_ ” The two knocked fists together once he strode inside.

 

                “I got a tooth coming in. See?” Brock lifted up his lip so that Jesse could see the white bump at the top of his gums.

 

                “Aw, yeah. Looking good. Pretty soon, you’re gonna have choppers like these,” Jesse said, flashing his grin. “Never underestimate the power of the floss, my friend. Chicks dig a big smile.”

 

                “I would have to say I agree,” she said, coming up next to him to wrap an arm around his waist. “Especially a smile like this one. Hey, babe.” She kissed him on the cheek, then on to his neck, smelling his skin. She only caught a whiff of cigarettes and cologne.

 

                “ _Hey_ ,” he breathed. He kissed her back at her temple, uncurling her arm and stepping away. “How are you?”

 

                “No, how are _you?_ ” she asked, trying to move closer to him. Jesse stepped behind Brock, put his hands on his shoulders as Brock tipped his head to look up at him with a toothless grin. “You feeling better?”

 

                “Yes. Much better, thank you.” He looked down at Brock. “Is it game night or movie night?”

 

                “Game night!” Brock yelled.

 

                “Okay, hon, calm down. Jesse, I was just getting dinner ready. Are you going to eat with us?”

 

                “Yeah. Sure, babe. You want me to set the table?”

 

                “Well … could you help me in the kitchen first? Hey, Brock, why don’t you pick out your games and Jesse will be in, in a minute, okay?”

 

                “Okay.” He ran off to the other room, leaving the two of them standing by the stairs. Jesse looked off to where Brock had run, his expression blank, but when she came up to him to put her hands on his waist, his eyes widened and he sidestepped her embrace again.

 

                “Oh, hey, what did you need me to do,” he asked, as he walked through the kitchen archway. He looked around the space as she followed him in. “You know, this really is a sweet place.” He smiled at her. “I’m glad you found it. I mean it. This is … it’s really great here.”

 

                “Yeah, Brock loves it. Thank you again, Jesse,” she said as she leaned back against the sink, crossing her arms. There was definitely something up with him.

 

                “Oh, no, you don’t got to thank me. I – It’s all cool, right? I mean, Brock deserves a good home.”

 

                “And what about me? Do I deserve one?” she asked with an edge to her voice. Jesse’s smile fell.

 

                “Of course. Yeah, _of course_ you do. I didn’t mean it like that.”

 

                “Is there something wrong?”

 

                His eyes went wide again as he protested. “Nah. I’m good. I told you, I’m doing much better.”

 

                Andrea came up to him for another kiss, swooped her arms around his neck and leaned in to his body this time as she pressed her mouth to his. He froze at first, instantly putting his hands to her hips to keep her from grinding against him. He pushed her back, eased out of the kiss as he patted her arm. “Okay. Weren’t you getting dinner on the table?”

 

                “What’s the matter with you?” she demanded to know.

 

                “What? _Nothing,_ ” he insisted. “Why? I just thought …” He opened his arms to spread across the expanse of the kitchen. “It’s, like, time for dinner. I mean, Brock’s right outside.”

 

                “Fine.” She turned to the sideboard where the potatoes sat on a trivet. “Can you grab the pork chops out of the oven, please?” She marched into the dining room without glancing back.

 

                The oven door opened and closed behind her as she set the potatoes down. There was a stack of dishes on the table and she divvied them to each place setting. A hand ran up her bottom, another gripping her waist while she leaned over the table. Andrea stood up, let Jesse wrap an arm in front of her stomach. The other hand slid down between her legs as he kissed her neck.

 

                “ _Hey._ I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to give you the cold shoulder or anything. I’m just germy, okay? I don’t want to get you sick.”

 

                She turned to face him. “Jesse, do you promise that’s all this is? I need you to be honest with me. If you don’t want to come around, then just tell me. Don’t give me excuses.”

 

                “Babe, I’m _not.”_ His eyes were imploring. “I want to be here. I do. I’m – I’m trying, okay? I – have some shitty days. I don’t want to – you know, be a bad influence.”

 

                Andrea cast her eyes down, feeling the weight of his words. “You’re not. I mean, okay, the wine wasn’t such a good idea, but … we’re,” she looked up into his face. “We’re doing pretty good. Both of us. I told you, hon, I’m here when you need help. I _want_ to help. You do so much for me, and for Brock. Just let me be …” She stopped, feeling like she was begging once again. Her sigh was long and weary. “Whatever. You’ve already heard this. I’m just glad you’re here, okay?” She kissed him, but this time he pressed his hands to her face, let the kiss deepen. Andrea saw the row of bluish indentations under freckles in her mind. It had to have been her. She just didn’t remember doing it.

 

*******

                Andrea stood in the doorway of her bedroom, a hand curled around Jesse’s hip as she tried to drag him inside.

 

                “Come on, babe,” she cooed. “I want to taste you.” She cupped his crotch as they kissed again.

 

                “Mmm, I don’t know. I got to be up early. So do you.”

 

                “So what,” she whispered, pulling him by his belt. “So we’re a little tired. It’ll be worth it.” He let her coax him into the room and Andrea closed the door as soon as he’d cleared it still gripping his side. Her lips went back to his. “I want you,” she moaned into his mouth. Her hands slid under his tee-shirt and he jumped back, taking hold of her wrist.

 

                “Um – I … I don’t …” He seemed distressed all of a sudden, his eyes glistening.

 

                “What? What’s the matter?” She slid to her knees in front of him, started to unbuckle his jeans. “If you’re tired, I can get you ready, babe.”

 

                He grabbed both of her wrists this time and held them high. “Um. I need to tell you something first. Come on, get up.”

 

                She stood up, immediately on alert from his serious tone. “Yeah? Okay. What is it?”

 

                He took her hand and walked to her bed, made her sit down with him. “Look. I, uh … there’s something I did, okay? I – I don’t know how you’re gonna take it.”

 

                “ _Mierda_ , you are starting to freak me out, Jesse. What – what’s going on? Is it to do with your friend from this morning? That Walter guy?”

 

                His expression went from sheepish to shock in an instant. “What? What are you talking about? Walter _who_?”

 

                She narrowed her eyes as she tried to recall, heard the oily voice in her head again. “Uh, White? I think? The one that was at your house that day we were there. He came by to see you. Said that you told him to meet you here.”

 

                Jesse’s shock graduated to horror, looking a little sick at her notice. “He – he was _here?_ Walter White? You’re sure?” She nodded her head, eyes bulging with her insistence. “What did he want?”

 

                “I told you. He said you gave him this address as a meeting place. That he couldn’t get a hold of you and he asked me to call you. It’s why I left the message. I forgot about him when you called back because it was so late.”

 

                “I never told him … I mean, was that it? Did he – did he ask about me?”

 

                Andrea sighed, starting to think that she should have kept quiet about the visit. “Well – yeah, a bit. He seems … I guess he’s worried, like me. He was concerned that you were doing meth again.”

 

                “Well, I’m not,” Jesse said, his voice hard.

 

                She brushed her fingertips along the side of his face. “Babe, I know. I’m just telling you what he said. He was … really upset. Maybe you should call him back. You know, when you’re fucked up, you’re gonna get in a lot of fights with the people in your life. It’s part of the disease. But they just want what’s best for you. I had tons of fights with my grandmother before I stopped using. I didn’t want to hear it, but she was right. You should … you should probably make your peace with him. He seemed like he really cares about you.”

 

                “Yeah, well … you don’t know him like I do. He seems like a lot of things until you spend some time with the guy. He’s a dick, okay? If he ever comes by again, you call me right away. And don’t let him in the house.”

 

                “Seriously?” She thought about her intuition that there was something not right about the man, but Jesse’s take seemed rather harsh.

 

                He was completely distracted now, looking off to the window and scratching at his chest, his jaw working right to left. His knee started to bounce, a nervous habit of his that drove her crazy. “Just do what I said, alright? If – if you can’t reach me, just …” He fished his phone out of his pocket. “Here, I’m going to give you another number to call if you ever can’t get a hold of me, okay? Just text this number that it’s urgent you get a hold of Jesse Pinkman A-sap.” Jesse flipped the top up, quickly pushing buttons with his thumb as he sent her the number. A second later she heard her own phone burp on her nightstand. He snapped the phone closed in his fist and shook it towards her. “Promise me you’ll do that if he ever shows up. If _anyone_ shows up that you don’t know, or they look kind of suspicious, you get a message to me right away.”

 

                “Okay,” she conceded.

 

                “ _Promise me.”_

 

                “Yeah, baby. I got it.”

 

                He was shaking both legs now, antsy and irritated. She put a hand to his thigh to stop it. “Hey, you were going to tell me something. If it’s not about your friend, then what is it? Just don’t drag it out. You’re scaring me with this stuff.”

 

                “Shit, I don’t know, babe. Maybe I better just go. I’m kind of freaked out, too.”

 

                “No. Just tell me,” she demanded, her voice rising.

 

                Jesse looked boggled, stared up at the ceiling. “Uh – it’s … it was just this thing I did. It’s like, so not a big deal. I mean, it can wait.”

 

                “Jesse! Fuck, will you just tell me!”

 

                He gaped at her, surprised by her outcry. “Yeah, okay. Sorry.” He opened his palms to her, looked resigned to the moment as he took a deep breath, then grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head.

 

                At first, Andrea didn’t know what she was looking at. For a fleeting second, she thought he might be coming clean about the teeth marks. Then she saw the light from her lamp glint off the silver at his chest. She bent her head to peer closer. When she realized what she was looking at, she grinned.

                “For real?” She poked a finger at the closest nipple, admiring the barbell. Both piercings looked pretty sexy on him. “You did this … for me?”

 

                She wasn’t sure what to make of his expression as he hung his head demurely. “I guess I thought … you know, that’s what you liked to see. It’s … not too gay, is it?”

 

                “Are you kidding?” Andrea pushed him down on the bed, got on top of him to straddle his pelvis. She leaned down to catch one in her mouth, pulling it back with her teeth. Jesse jerked underneath her, making a sweet little gasp. She licked across his skin to the other one and did the same.

 

                “Baby, the only thing that is, is gorgeous,” she murmured. It was a lovely gesture, and already Andrea’s own nipples were hardened into points at the thought of showing off for him. “You want that for me, too? Is that why you did this?”

 

                Jesse’s eyes grew. “Um – sure. I mean, yeah, of course. You’d do that? For me? Can I take you to get them done?”

 

                “ _Baby,_ ” she moaned. “If that’s what you want, you just tell me. I would totally do it for you. I’ll do,” she dipped her head down to kiss a nipple, “whatever,” – she kissed the other – “you,” – then slid her body higher to reach his mouth. “Want.” Her tongue slipped in his mouth, whirled around with his as his hands groped her ass. She felt him harden underneath her, the impromptu stiffness flattening against her cunt. Andrea ground herself into his crotch, delighted at his moan.

 

                In a flash, she was on her back, Jesse suddenly on top of her. He squeezed a wrist and put it over her head, dipping down to bite at her breast. “Do we have to stop there?” he asked, his voice deep and smoky.

 

                “What do you mean?”

 

                His head moved lower, as he dragged up her shirt. He nipped at her bellybutton with his teeth. “Like, here,” he muttered in his throat. He moved lower, slipping a hand under her thigh to lift her leg to the side. “Or here.” Her skirt fell back and Jesse tongued the crotch of her panties. “Would you do _that_ for me?” Jesse looked up to catch her gaze, his eyelids heavy and his face stoked with lust. He extended his tongue and slowly licked along her clit, the silk already wet. “Right here,” he whispered, mouthing her completely.

 

                Something caught in Andrea’s throat, the small ridges dug into his flesh bright behind her eyes. “It depends,” she said softly.

 

                He grinned wickedly. “Depends on what?”

 

                “If – If I was yours.” She leaned up on her elbows. “And only yours. That’s what it would mean … if I did this for you. Is that what you want?”

 

                Jesse froze above her, his mouth open. “Uh.” He scooted up on his knees, dropping his hands on either side of her waist. “Yeah. I mean, _yes_ ,” he said more forcefully. “I do want that.” He leaned over her, stroked between her breasts down to her belly. “Do you?”

 

                “So … totally exclusive then? With a person like me, Jesse – if I give myself over to you like that, it’s not just for games, you know? It’s serious.”

 

                “Yeah, of course. Baby, I understand … it’s a _big_ deal _._ I mean, I’m not asking you lightly. I wouldn’t – I wouldn’t do that. But – I mean, is this what _you_ want, too? Don’t just – don’t do this just because I’m, like – whatever. I don’t know how well I can be what you want. But I can try. I want to.” He turned his head and she caught a view of his lashes wet and long in the light from her bedside lamp. “I – I just want to be with you, Andrea,” he said quietly. She touched his chin, made him look in her eyes.

 

                A warmth spread through her when she saw truth shining there. And need. Jesse needed her. “I want to be with you, too, Jesse,” she whispered, leaning up high enough to catch his lips in her own. The kiss stole deeper, their mouths opening to each other, and Jesse pushed her back down to the bed. “I want you so bad, baby,” she groaned. And she did. She wanted to wake up with him more than a few times a week. She wanted to know him completely. Wanted to see his face every day.

 

                “God. Babe, I want you, too. I missed you so much.” His hands were sliding off her panties, and then lifting her up by the waist to unzip her skirt. She fumbled at the buttons of her shirt, eager to get it off. Jesse ripped the skirt down her legs and dropped it on the floor, spread her wide as he dove between her thighs.

 

                “Jesse. Get your clothes off, too. Honey, help me.” She was trying to drag her blouse away and pull up his head at the same time. It was suddenly necessary that she press all of her skin to his.

 

                He got up on his knees and tugged her up by her arms, pulled the blouse off and then started unbuttoning his jeans. She went to help him, unsnapping a few at the bottom of the fly then pushing the waistband down over his ass. Andrea needed him inside her, needed to feel like she was part of him. Their frenzied grabs continued as he rolled on his back, trying to push his pants off his legs, Andrea tugging at the hem at his ankle.

 

                As soon as they were both naked, she climbed on top of him, laying him back against the pillows. His erection pressed against her thigh and Andrea wanted to feel it throb in her hand. She kissed his neck, made her way down his chest, circling the barbells with her tongue and then trailing it down his belly. He put a hand to her head.

 

                “Babe, it’s okay. You don’t gotta do that right now. Just get on me, alright? What did you do with the condoms?”

 

                “But I want to,” she said, her grip already around his cock. “Let me do this first. I love sucking your cock, Daddy.”

 

                His body tensed and it was quiet for a moment. “Uh – how about – like, what if we both go downtown? Turn around, you know, and bring your legs up here. I want a taste, too.”

 

                She liked that idea even better. “Okay.” The bedsheets rustled as she got up and angled her body around, Jesse already taking hold of her ankles and pulling her legs towards him. They began the sixty nine on their sides, but then Jesse hoisted her up so that she was split across his mouth, his legs already open for her as he lay flat on his back. Andrea went to take him in her mouth, loving the steeliness of him in her hand. She really did love his cock. It was perfect for her: the right size for her to handle, the right thickness and shape. If cocks could be pretty, then Jesse’s was the prom queen.

 

                His tongue was inside her and Andrea moaned, her lips suckling the head as her own tongue ran over the slit. She opened her eyes wider as she pressed her mouth down the length of him and that was when she saw it. Andrea pulled back, pressed a hand to the inside of his thigh to make sure it wasn’t a trick of the light.

 

                “Jesus. Jesse, what the hell did you do?” she cried in a hushed voice. He stopped what he was doing and she felt his body move up between her legs.

 

                “What do you mean?” She heard it, the slight note of panic.

 

                Andrea sat up on his stomach, looked behind her to see his worried expression. “This huge fucking bruise is what I mean. How did you get _this?_ ” She slid off of him and let her rump hit the bed, pointing to the patch of thigh marked with a long gash of bluish purple. The faint remains from the ones on his face had been one thing – he’d obviously been in a fight. But this was along the back of his thigh, and it looked quite recent. Jesse had sat all the way up and leaned over to see where she was pointing.

 

                “Oh … that? I, uh – got that from a fall. Um, a few days ago. Friday, I mean. At work. I fell off some machinery and slammed into a ta – a big container. I forgot about it. You got me all worried there.”

 

                “You work with machinery?” she asked, probably the most she’d ever heard about his job.

 

                He narrowed his eyes at her, tilted his head back. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. Sometimes. It’s – I mean, we really don’t have to talk about it.” Jesse ran a hand over her bare bottom. “I was kind of into what we were doing just now.”

 

                “Are you okay? That looks pretty nasty, babe. Like, how did you even fall? Were you on a ladder, or something?”

 

                Jesse laid back, his delicate fingers curling around her ankle. “Andrea – don’t worry about it. I’m fine, okay? Come on. Get back on top of me.” He stared at her in complete seriousness. “I want to tie you up when we’re done.” He smacked a hand over the post above his head. “At opposite corners, babe. I’m gonna split you wide open. I’m going to stuff you so deep. Every hole. They’re all mine.”

 

                “Yeah?” The bruise pushed from her thoughts. “What else are you going to do to me?” she murmured with a coy smile. She turned over so that her ass sat on his stomach as she extended a leg, drew a toe across his chin. He grabbed her foot, sucked the toe into his mouth a few times. Then he bent it to the side and kissed the curve of her arch. “Everything,” he said. His voice was raked over gravel, but he sounded dangerous and thrilling.

 

                Andrea dragged herself along his chest until she could straddle his mouth, Jesse already grabbing for her breasts.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sherlycroft, Hyela, you_cant_be_serious, TallyCola, gayofsky, Aceldama, soliloque, evsquire, SegaBarrett, panademonium, Remlundskan, Pinkmanite, Gulgumma, ZeRunaway, calicomary, warriorpoet, willowoftheriver, DustyGills, JadesFire (The_Fighting_109), serafinafour, falafelfiction, celeryy, Porkchop_Sandwiches, and afan as well as 76 guests left kudos on this work!
> 
> Thanks so much, to all of you, both named and anonymous. Considering there's a fic on this site with over 800 kudos, I just wanted to note that I really appreciate those of you who have taken the time to rate this story with a hit of that button. And thanks to those of you with bookmarks and subscriptions. The support is really wonderful.
> 
> Here's a bonus, I guess. Two chapters in two days!
> 
> Jennifurby, I have no piercings myself, but I did watch four different youtube clips on how the process was done. I didn't hear anyone mention anything about the needle getting stuck if the person held their breath, so, I guess I missed that. But Jesse wasn't actually holding his breath, so maybe it wasn't too bad?
> 
> warriorpoet - hey! so glad you are back! And I think 'squirmingly wonderful' is a delightful word. Hey, you can make anything a word these days. Thanks so much for your comments on Walt and Mike. I have more of them coming up soon.
> 
> serafinafour - I loved that you made that connection to the picture with Gus literally stringing Jesse up! Ha ha. Now what will Walt do?
> 
> Thanks, Ladyeledhwen! I agree that Jesse should never be underestimated. It's one of the things I enjoy about that character.


	17. The Talk

 

_Everything that I have done for you_ _..._ _you put a bug on my car?!_

 

 

              Walter sat in his car tapping his fingers on the wheel as he waited by the side of the road. Automobiles zoomed by him on their way to the freeway, leaving an aerodynamic wake that shuddered his newest rental, but Walt was lost in his thoughts, looking in his rear view mirror for any flash of red in the upcoming traffic. His backside was getting sore from all the sitting around. There would need to be some action soon or he might very well lose it again. He couldn’t stand the inertia, it was too much like his old life - something cataclysmic had to happen, and it had to happen in the immediate future. The unsuccessful attempts to get to the young boy were squandering away his precious days. It was time to go direct to the source.

 

              The girl had been wary, that much he’d sensed right away. Halfway into the visit, he had pretty much expected that he wouldn’t be able to get anywhere near the refrigerator and tried to cut his losses. The juice box in his pocket was warm from his grip, starting to cave in on itself – it would likely stand out if he were even able to get it to its target. The risk quotient was out of control with this pursued strategy. He was leaving way too much open to chance: any number of things could go wrong if the girl found a random juice box sitting on her refrigerator shelf out of place. He had no foreknowledge of what the kid drank regularly – it was all a shot in the dark. He was grasping at straws and Walter was not a man who waded into uncertainty without some kind of backup plan, without working the odds.

 

               He had to talk to Jesse, make him see reason. He would simply have to force the issue. If the girl mentioned him as he hoped, then he’d likely get a coming retaliation. Walt would have to be ready for him. Do his best magic to get Jesse to listen. And if that didn’t work, he could always return to the girl's house when no one was around.

 

               Things were getting tense back at Hank’s. Junior was sullen again, locking himself away in the guest bedroom when he was told he couldn’t go to Louis’s. Skyler kept demanding answers he couldn’t give her. What was he supposed to say? He was spending his days looking for opportunities to poison a little boy? The excuses were getting harder to manufacture. He’d barely set foot in the car wash during business hours. They were lucky to have Martin as their opening manager to handle things. But Skyler was itching to get back to work and Hank was simply overbearing. Steve Gomez had been to see him every day, from what Skyler had recounted. It was going to be impossible to get Hank to give up his investigation into Gus Fring. Walter didn’t know how he could protect him anymore without Jesse’s help.

 

                He couldn’t get anywhere near Jesse’s house – it wasn’t safe. But he knew that Jesse had to come down this road to get to the laundry site. He was bound to show up sooner or later. A few seconds later, as if on cue, the familiar boxy Tercel suddenly appeared in the left lane, the traffic lightened to a sparse trail of vehicles so that Jesse’s car stood out clearly. Walt straightened up, put the car into gear and lurched out into the road, his eyes peeled to the Toyota as it traveled ahead at a respectable speed. The new car was a Buick, long and bulky, but he wasn’t attempting to camouflage himself this time. He _wanted_ Jesse to notice him. Walt couldn’t make it look too obvious, however. He stayed to the right, kept at a two-car length distance, but every once in a while, he’d get into Jesse’s lane for a few moments before moving back to the outside.

 

               Jesse cruised into the right lane with a screech of tires, his car wobbling for a moment. There was a turn off ahead and then Jesse was careening down the side road, forcing Walt to follow. The road ran under an overpass, traffic blocked at a standstill along the top of it. He saw Jesse coast along the curb until the car stopped by its scalloped edge. Walt could hardly contain his excitement, slowing down to pull up behind him. There wasn't any traffic down this artery, and they were blocked from the major roadways by the stone trestle. He stopped the car and cut off the engine, waiting to see what Jesse would do.

 

               He watched as Jesse opened the window, flung out a cigarette that sparked once as it landed on the asphalt. There was subtle movement in the car, but he didn’t appear to be coming out. Instead, the Tercel sat patiently, the ticking of the engine echoing against the brick. Walter looked around the area again, making sure he couldn’t see the Cutlass Ciera anywhere. After a sweep convinced him they were alone, Walt opened his door and got out of the car. He put his hands up in the air, a sign of peace as he carefully and slowly walked to the passenger side. When he got close enough, he bent down at the waist, peered inside the window to see Jesse lighting up a new cigarette, waving away the flame of his match before dropping it into the ashtray. He pulled out the cigarette and blew out a plume of smoke as he turned to stare at Walt with dead, hollow eyes.

 

               “You gettin’ in or what?” he said, his voice coming from the open window on other side of the car.

 

               Walt opened the door tentatively. “You’re not going to throw anything at me again, are you?”

 

               “Depends,” Jesse said flatly. “Are you gonna say something shitty?”

 

               Walter got in with a relieved sigh. “Thank you, Jesse. Thank you for seeing me,” he said, ingratiating himself, although the words were heartfelt. Everything seemed to be righted for a moment, just the two of them sitting together in the car. The last time they’d been able to just sit across from each other and have a decent conversation had been the night Walt gave Jesse the tube of ricin. “I – I just need a moment of your time. To talk … rationally, and without rancor. I need your help, Jesse.”

 

               “Yeah, no kidding. I mean, do you not get how dangerous it is for you to be following me around? Dude, I got Tyrus on my tail most mornings. And what the hell, yo? What do you think you’re doing, going around to my girl’s house and telling her bullshit lies about me being back on drugs? What the fuck was that?” he shouted.

 

               “I – I was desperate, Jesse. I had to see you and you wouldn’t listen to me before. Do you even _know_ –” his voice became ragged – “What they did to me after you left me on your lawn that day? Dragged me out to the desert to _threaten_ me, and my _family?_ My wife. My _children._ Gus … he will see the end of me, if I don't - if _we_ don’t do something soon.” He grabbed Jesse’s arm at the bicep. “He will hurt them! Not just me! Do you _see?_ This is who we’re dealing with, Jesse.”

 

               Jesse stared at him with widened eyes before turning away to look through the windshield. “Yeah, well, that ain’t gonna happen. Gus is just trying to scare you. He’s just frontin’ to get you to back off. You should probably try doing that.”

 

               “So ... what? I’m just supposed to believe that those threats were idle? Just ignore them? He said he would kill _my daughter,_ ” he growled.

 

               “He said that?” Jesse looked shaken again but then closed his eyes and shook his head. “It’s a bluff. Trust me, he’s not going to do anything to your family.”

 

               “And how can you be so sure of that?” Walter asked, his frustration gathering at Jesse’s naive conviction.

 

               “Because I know!” Jesse blasted.

 

               “Oh! You _know!_ Yes, I see now.” Walter opened his arms wide as if addressing a crowd. “Of course, if Jesse Pinkman _knows,_ then we must be in the clear. _Thank you,_ ” he said, his tone dripping with disdain as he clasped his hands together in entreaty to his partner. “Thank you for making this all so painstakingly incontrovertible for me. I feel so much better. I can stop worrying now about everyone getting murdered, since you just _know_.” His teeth clenched as he was swiftly caught in the old, familiar irritation with Jesse’s shortsightedness once more. He felt foolish for letting his temper get the best of him, yet again. He couldn't afford another dispute that would push Jesse further away.

 

               But Jesse didn’t rise to the sarcasm, just hung his head as he gazed out of the window, working his jaw in aggravation but saying nothing. He looked miserable and Walt instantly felt ashamed.

 

               “Hey … I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I’m just … I’m a little on edge. I feel like I’m running against the clock, here, and it's down to the wire. Jesse, you and I … we need to work together on this. Gus is … he’s absolutely ruthless.”

 

               Jesse gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Yeah,” he said in a dull voice. “Tell me about it.” He finally turned to Walt. “Look, Gus wants me to cook for him. He can’t kill you or else he doesn’t … have me. You got it? Just let this go, Mr. White.”

 

               Walter put his hand on Jesse’s shoulder, but Jesse flinched and pulled away, looking guilty a second later. “Jesse … sorry. I … I _knew_ it was you protecting me. And I thank you for that, I really do. But you can’t believe that Gus will just settle for this arrangement long term. He’ll … he’ll keep working to turn you against me. He has you, now, but I’m still a liability.”

 

               “No, your DEA brother-in-law is the liability,” Jesse insisted. “Gus wants him gone. The dude keeps sticking his fat face into Gus’s business and he’s not going to stand for it any more. You want to save him? Then you got to work to get him to leave Gus alone. _That’s_ what you need to be focusing on.”

 

               “Well, how the hell am I supposed to do that?”

 

               “Oh, I don’t know, maybe stop taking him to our drug lab and our warehouse, for one.”

 

               “Jesse! It’s not that easy! Hank is determined. He can smell this on Gus and he won’t let go of it. Believe me, I’ve tried. He’s a bulldog! I was trying to contain the damage by accompanying him, make sure he didn’t discover anything. He can’t do much right now, but … the agents at his house aren’t going to stay forever and he’ll no longer have any protection. We need to move quickly.”

 

               “What is this ‘we’ shit? I don't give a shit about the dude. Plus, Gus has got me busy. _You_ got to find a way to stop your brother-in-law snooping around, or Gus _will_ waste him. I mean, can’t you just, like, send him on a vacation or something?”

 

               Walt gaped at his young partner. “ _A vacation?_ ” he echoed, rearing his head back with incredulity. Jesse’s advice could be staggering at times.

 

               “Whatever, man. You’re the genius – think of something! The guy’s in a wheelchair, for fuck’s sake, how hard can it be, really? You could roll him into a closet and lock the door and the dude won’t be able to do shit about it.”

 

               “ _Okay,_ enough of this. We’re getting off point, here.” Walt took a calming breath, pressed his fingers to his eyelids under his glasses. “Jesse … the fight … I didn’t mean for that … you need to understand …” He struggled to string the right words together, to make Jesse see that they were a team, that they were both their better selves when they worked together in the face of a crisis.

 

               “Understand what?” Jesse glared at him with dark anticipation.

 

               “That day at your house … son, I didn’t mean what I said. You have to believe me. I was angry … frustrated. I felt … well, you _had_ lied to me. I felt betrayed. But I would never … I feared for you down there in Mexico. I’m – I’m glad you’re alright.” He attempted another grip to Jesse’s shoulder and this time Jesse let his hand stay.

 

               There was a glimpse of something receptive in Jesse’s eyes for a moment, a hopeful glint of relief. But then he blinked and turned away, took another drag on his cigarette as he scanned the road through the driver’s side window.

 

               “I still have the ricin,” he muttered softly.

 

               Walt’s excitement leaped into his chest. “That’s good, Jesse. Very good. Yes, we can still … you can finish what we started. Were you … at his house again this weekend?”

 

               Jesse snapped his eyes to him, immediately defiant. “So what if I was. It’s not that easy to poison the guy, okay? You think your brother-in-law is tough, Gus is like a fucking Jedi master.”

 

               “What is … what’s he having you over there for?” Walter was curious about Gus’s intentions. He could only imagine what Gus was saying about him during these evening invitations.

 

               There was a pause as Jesse stared at his knees and fiddled with his fingers, tapped his cigarette to the ashtray. “It’s just … he has me over for dinner. It’s a … weekly thing. He’s, like, _training_ me, I guess.”

 

               “Training you for what?”

 

               Jesse rolled his eyes to the roof of the car as he stretched his neck. “For like, the business, man. He wants to, you know, show me the ropes. To toughen me up, he says. He wants me to stay off the meth and be a good little worker. I don’t know. He talks a lot.”

 

               “And what does he say about me?”

 

               Jesse was glaring at him again. “To stay away from you. Oh, and _,_ _thanks_ for your concern.”

 

               Walt held out his hands, shook his head in perplexed disbelief. “That’s it?” There had to be more that Jesse was keeping from him.

 

               “Yeah, well, he’s got plenty of other things he’d rather talk about. Hey … like, why haven’t you ever asked me what I was doing with my money? I mean, how do you know I’m even paying taxes or whatnot? I got no cover, while you got your fancy car wash. Way to watch out for your partner, dude.”

 

               Walter grew annoyed with the sudden change of the subject matter but he tamped it down. He had to make sure Jesse was ready for any opportunity the next time he was over at Gus’s house. “I didn’t think it was my business,” he said dismissively. “You’re a grown adult, Jesse. It’s up to you what you do with your money. Wouldn’t your lawyer be the one to advise you?” He held up a hand and waved the topic away. “Look, I need to know what we’re up against, time-wise. Do you think it’s possible you can find a … moment to catch Gus off guard the next time you’re over there? I mean, what does Gus usually make for the meal?”

 

               “Um, weird stuff. Usually something from Chile.” Jesse pronounced the country’s name accurately, the accent almost perfect, and a tingle set off in the back of Walt’s neck. “And he never leaves the table once it’s served. I’ve tried, believe me. But I was thinking more along the lines of what he’s drinking.”

 

               Walt seized on the idea. “His wine? That’s … that’s actually a very smart route to go. You could bring a bottle next time, as a gift. We could,” his excitement renewed, “we could inject it in liquid form through the cork. It’s been done before.”

 

               Jesse’s interest piqued, the concentration tightened into his features as he agreed. “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. I mean, if I wait until he’s got a glass out, I gotta create a diversion to give me enough time to get the poison in there and make sure it’s not noticeable. But yeah, if I brought it already poisoned, that could work. He won’t let me drink any, so … there’s that.”

 

               Walter cocked his head. “Really?” Gus seemed very committed to keeping Jesse clean.

 

               Jesse shrugged. “He’s invested in my sobriety, he says. He … he had a brother that … I guess was a junkie. Got blown up. So Gus is kind of a pill about it.”

 

               Momentarily surprised by the candor Gus had expressed with someone that he apparently despised, Walter conceded that some things had definitely changed since Mexico. But then he realized it was probably a story shared to set Jesse on a course.

 

               “Well, that’s good. If he’s the only one drinking, that’s perfect. We want to avoid suspicion, after all. This could definitely work to our advantage, Jesse.”

 

               “Yeah, but … look. You said that there’s a wait period before it actually starts to work, right? Like forty eight hours? I mean, what about when Gus starts to question why he’s sick? The guy knows his poisons. He’s not stupid. I’m gonna be the first person he looks at. Maybe he takes me out along with him when he realizes what’s happened.”

 

               Walt shook his head with authority. “It would feel like a flu coming on. He’s not going to suspect anything until it’s too late. But what do you mean, he knows his poisons?”

 

               “That shit that went down in Juárez City? Gus poisoned the whole lot of them. Wiped out the cartel with laced tequila. Dude _poisoned himself_ to make it believable. He’s fucking _insane_.” Jesse’s expression turned to one of distress.

 

               “Then how … how did he recover so quickly? Did he take some kind of emetic beforehand? What happened down there? ”

 

               Jesse dragged a hand over his eyes, gave a heavy sigh. “Fucked up stuff, that’s what. I don’t … it doesn’t matter, right now, okay? We got to wrap this up. I’m getting paranoid sitting out here. Just … just let me take care of this my way and you work on your brother-in-law. Don’t … don’t worry about your family, alright?” Jesse suddenly looked to him with an earnest, apologetic expression. “Seriously. It’s … Gus won’t touch them. I promise.”

 

               But Walt needed more. “This can’t be it, Jesse. When can we meet next? I can’t come near your house, obviously. We need to have a chance to … debrief. Talk about our wine options. I need to know what Gus usually drinks, what his routine is. I’ll need the vial, to get to work on this. When’s the next time you’ll be over? I need to plan for this, Jesse.”

 

               “Look, I _got_ it, alright? But it’s risky, us talking. I’ll – I’ll let you know when there’s a possibility to meet up. Mike is back. There’s more eyes on me. I got cleaners, now, so my schedule for production is ramped up. Just tell me what I need to do and I can have the wine ready. I’m not stupid,okay? I can handle it.”

 

               “But Jesse, we need more time to go over this. I need to hear _details._ This plan has to be impregnable. We can’t afford for anything to go wr –”

 

               “Mr. White, I gotta go! I got to be at work, and Gus doesn’t like it if I'm late. I’ll text you on one of my burners with a meeting place when I get the opportunity. Now, get out and go start working on your brother-in-law. And stop hanging around Gus’s house, Jesus. Just stay out of the way.” He crushed his cigarette into the ashtray as Walt moved to get out of the car. “Oh, and stay away from my girlfriend’s house! That shit isn’t cool,” he yelled before Walt shut the door.

 

               Walt tapped on the glass, pulled his phone from his pocket as a last reminder that Jesse promised he would contact him again. But Walter felt suddenly lighter than he had in weeks. Perhaps he wouldn't have to make the boy sick after all. Things were back on track. He had Jesse’s ear and that was all that mattered.

 

               He watched the Tercel speed away, take a left up ahead to zip back towards the freeway. Hank would be difficult to deal with, but Walt would come up with something. He felt like he could breathe steady again. Gus’s death was an imminent event, Jesse looked eager for it to happen. And then … and then what? There would be time for him and his partner to think about the future again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a short chapter this time, since the last few have been so long. Thanks again to all for your comments. We got Mike coming up next.
> 
> Congrats to panademonium for completing her story. That was quite an undertaking.


	18. The Kill

 

_Walt, you got a good thing going here. We all do. You wanna risk it all on one junkie? Now, I realize you two have a history but this kid’s been on the bubble a while now. It’s a long time coming._

 

 

                “Okay, we’ve got one meatloaf dinner for you, Mike, and a cheeseburger, hold the pickle, extra fries, for my new favorite customer. Here you go, darlin’. Anything else I can get you boys?”

 

                “We’re good, Fran. Thanks. I thought I was your favorite customer?” Mike teased with a straight face.

 

                “Oh, you were, but you don’t have quite the same arresting baby blue eyes as your friend, here, Mike,” Fran grinned. She swept a delicate hand over Jesse’s residual hair, the buzzed locks getting thicker every day. “You need anything else, Jesse, you just holler, okay?”

 

                “Yeah, thanks,” Jesse offered with a small smile. The kid had been quiet since they’d ordered, chewing at his nails while staring through the glass longingly. He was antsy. Mike could feel him jiggling his leg on the seat all the way over from the other side of the booth.

 

                “So, you eventually going to tell me what’s bothering you, or are we just gonna sit here and eat our food, no conversation?” he asked. Jesse froze and met his stare, his eyes wet with that bunny rabbit dew. Mike detected a hint of guilt there in the gaze, but Jesse bent his head, started on his food with a shrug.

 

                “We can talk. I’m – it’s nothing. I’m not bothered. I mean, maybe a little. I don’t know. I’ve just been thinking about stuff, lately.”

 

                “Well, that sounds ominous. Stuff, huh? Are we talking business related matters, or is this some existential crisis you’ve got going on?” There was always something warring within Jesse, and Mike was starting to see the kid’s moral code a little more clearly. An aura of anxiety surrounded him like a thermal image, the questions that plagued him bubbling to the surface in nervous ticks and worried glances.

 

                “What? I – it ain’t no crisis, I’m just thinking, is all. About … what we’re doing, you know?”

 

                “No, I’m not sure I’m following. You got any more questions on what we’re doing, you know who to ask. And from what I hear, you’re going to be getting yourself a new title soon. So I suggest you find a way to deal with these concerns so you can focus on the job.” Gus had informed him that they would need to get some credentials for Jesse put together on an application. He’d left the monitoring of Jesse’s audio feeds to Tyrus, discovering that it had been acutely awkward listening to the tapes himself. Mike still followed up with him and then reported the findings to Gus, but he had felt off about the whole thing. It was not like him to pass off surveillance tapes; he’d always been able to separate the professional from the personal. Usually. At least he had the guise of coaching his trainee to explain his withdrawal, but there hadn’t been a whole lot from the audio to even disseminate to Gus, which was good. Jesse’s house was mostly dominated by the sound of the television set when he was at home. And phone calls were mainly relegated to the girl. Then there was the night time activity, which Mike didn’t want any part of.

 

He’d heard a few minutes from the week before, when the girl had visited. Jesse wasn’t talking about their business with her. There was only one thing those two were interested in, and it wasn’t anything wholesome. Mike had been somewhat surprised the kid even had that side to him. He’d figured him for a creampuff around women, just a puppy dog curling around their ankles waiting for a scruff behind the ears. When they weren’t lying dead in his bed, that is.

 

                “What do you mean?” Jesse’s tone was leery. “What title?”

 

                “Your new position at Los Pollos,” Mike confirmed. “It’s a good plan. You need to start getting serious about this. Take proper measures to ensure you’re airtight when it comes to the law. We still have Schrader to contend with, and that’s gonna be a cloud over our heads for a bit. This is the time to keep your nose clean, you got it?”

 

                “Yeah, fine. Gus didn’t even tell me how this is supposed to work, though. I mean, am I actually going to have to drive around to all of his locations and like, talk to people?”

 

                “It might be a good idea to do a quarterly audit. We want employees in the business to know your face. I’m in the flagship restaurant all the time, obviously, so the staff knows me pretty well, but I may spend an hour out of the week doing actual Pollos related stuff. It’s not a difficult juggle, kid.”

 

                Jesse appeared flummoxed. “What, you mean he’s got you on the restaurant payroll, too? As what?”

 

                “I’m his head of security, of course. But we’ll get things squared away this week. I already spoke to Saul about your affairs. He’s got the bank address for you to go by and sign some papers there to get your account activated. We all use the same place. This is a good plan,” he repeated, feeling better about the kid being protected.

 

                “So, that’s it, then? I’m in, now? One of the gang? Do you guys have a bowling night, or something?”

 

                Mike cracked the tiniest of smiles. “No, but we all recognize that we have a very lucrative operation going here, and it pays to dot your i’s and cross your t’s, so the sooner we have you as an upstanding citizen and tax-paying homeowner, the better for us all. It’s a bit symbiotic that way.” He scooped up another forkful of meatloaf, had an image of Jesse with the girl he was seeing. Gus had mentioned a young boy, too, but Mike hadn’t gotten a visual yet. “That little family of yours, though – that’s probably a good thing for your image. Is it getting serious?”

 

                Jesse’s eyes went wide, and he dropped a fry to his plate that had been headed for his mouth. “She doesn’t know anything, Mike,” he insisted. “And it’s gonna stay that way. I’m not – I don’t want to involve them in any of this.”

 

                Mike sighed. “I would definitely recommend that. Although there will come a time when it seems like it might be a good idea. To tell her. But don’t do it. It’s never a good idea.”

 

                The kid dropped his gaze, ran a fork around his plate pushing the remaining fries toward a glop of ketchup. “I don’t want her to know … about me. What I’ve done.”

 

                Mike had a pang in his wound and he put his hand to his chest. For a split second, he saw his wife, could see the wrench in her face when he’d explained things to her. He thought it had been a kindness, an acknowledgement of her loyalty and intelligence in her final week of dignity. The next time he’d gone to see her, she hadn’t remembered a word of it, and Mike had breathed a thankful sigh of relief. He had wished for her to die without recalling a single bit of his confession.

 

                “You don’t think about that part of the job. It doesn’t do you any good to dwell. This all comes with the territory, kid. But you – you’re going to stay on the production side of things now and let us handle the rest, okay?”

 

                “But, I mean – it’s all the same, though, right? I felt, like – different, after … after you know. Like, it took something out of me. And I ain’t ever getting it back. But lately I’ve been thinking … about this kid I met one time. And I realized it’s all … I mean, I was,” Jesse bent his head closer to Mike, his voice dropping to an angst-filled whisper. “I was a _killer_ all along. I make poison. Every day, like tons of it. I thought it wasn’t no big deal, ‘cause I took it, too, and it was, like, my choice to get fucked up. That everyone had this _choice_. But what about the kids? They didn’t ask for that. For their parents to be mindless, worthless junkies that can’t even take care of them. And that’s all because of me. You know, that kid they had dealing – that Gus said he didn’t know about. _I_ got that little boy killed.”

 

                “Stop that. Stop it right now,” Mike said firmly. “This isn’t going to take you down anywhere you need to be right now, Jesse. This is a business. We can’t run people’s lives. Stop putting that blame on your shoulders. It’s not going to do you a bit of good.”

 

                “But how am I supposed to get this stuff out of my head, huh? Gus wants me to get over it, like I’m gonna become this stone cold killer overnight, like I’ll just push a button, and all those thoughts simply go away. But I can’t _do_ that! I can still see … _Gale’s_ face, looking at me, absolutely … terrified and he’s _begging_ me not to do it. I can’t – I can’t …”

 

                The kid was getting increasingly upset and Mike checked around the diner, noticing where the rest of the patrons were located. Fran was still behind the counter, but she eyed him with a lift of the coffee pot in her hands and Mike waved her away.

 

                “Look, kid, you want me to tell you it doesn’t get any easier? Well, it does. It gets real easy. I shoot a guy in the face … I sleep just fine. Don’t remember what that face looks like by the time I wake up in the morning. That’s just the way it goes. Now I know you didn’t sign up for this end of it – and when I look at you, I don’t see a killer – but for your sake, Jesse, you need to let go of this guilt.”

 

                “Everyone keeps saying that! But it’s not that easy! ” he hissed, his voice rising.

 

                “Jesse. Get a hold of yourself. This is not the place for this discussion. Alright? You eat up your cheeseburger and we’ll continue this outside. Just stop getting yourself worked up.” Jesse wiped his hand over his face, rubbing it down to his jaw which he grasped, holding his mouth open. He stared at his food as if it were garbage.

 

                “Suit yourself then.” Mike went back to his meatloaf, watching the kid’s gaze drift back to the window.

 

******

 

                It was cool outside as they stepped into the night, a breeze ghosting over Mike as they walked to his car. The sign blinking in the window left blue neon streaks across his trunk. He pointed to the driver’s side, made Jesse get in after he’d unlocked the doors. The kid had his pack of cigarettes in his hand, peering inside of the open top with a doleful expression as Mike got in and shut his door. He cleared his throat and Jesse looked up guiltily, put them away in his pocket.

 

                “Sorry. Forgot you don’t like me smoking in the car. What is it with you old dudes, anyway? Killing a guy is totally fine, but, god forbid, someone light one up around you.”

 

                “Well, I’m a little more sensitive to my health than you are, obviously. But I’m not going to sit here and lecture you on your filthy habit, considering what you’ve been up against. Now, open up that glove box, would you? I’ve got something for you.”

 

                Jesse snapped it open so that the front piece dropped hard enough to bounce. He took out the bulky shape wrapped in cloth, looking to Mike with consternation as he hefted its weight in his hand.

 

                “You’re giving me a gun again? What do we have to do now? I thought – I thought I was done with the dead drops and playing muscle.”

 

                “Yup, that’s correct,” he said, trying not to be too amused by Jesse as ‘muscle’. The kid had saved his life. “But … this goes back to what we were talking about, kid. This is the kind of business we’re in. It pays to be _prepared.”_ The uneasiness he’d felt in his meeting with Gus returned as he visualized the spot on Jesse’s wall, behind his mirror, where the camera had been fitted. “You’re in a dangerous profession. I know you get that, but I can’t stress enough that it’s important you see every angle. Feeling guilty isn’t going to keep you alive, it’s a hindrance. Most of us, we know the story. Live by the sword and all that. Even Gale had a clue. Hell, I know the only thing that’s gotten me this far is because I have some brains and I keep my focus on the job. But I’ve given Death way too many bodies in my time that when he comes for me, somehow I doubt I’m going peacefully in my sleep. But that’s okay.”

 

                He thought of Charlene again, pale and tiny, shriveled to a skeleton, with that knowing smile on her face becoming rigid as she’d faded away. There would be no one to hold his hand when it was his turn, but at least he’d been there for her at the end. 

 

                “So what am I supposed to do with this then?” Jesse had taken it out of its shroud, held it up by the nose, with the butt facing towards Mike. “Who else am I gonna have to kill?”

 

                “I’m trying to tell you, kid, you need protection. We don’t know what the remaining cartels are going to do once news travels. And we’ve got a ruckus here at home to deal with. So you and I are going to practice some more shooting and you’re going to learn how to handle that piece like it’s an extension of your arm.”

 

                Jesse inspected the Beretta, closed his hand around it. “This is what I had in Mexico. When I shot that guy. What’s his name, Salamanca’s grandson.”

 

                “Well, it’s a good, dependable weapon, with plenty of rounds in the clip, and that’s crucial for you. You were spraying bullets all over the place before you hit your target.”

 

                Instead of being rankled by the criticism, Jesse glanced up with a sickened expression. “I didn’t think I could – but, it was him or me, right? Isn’t that how I have to think now?”

 

                “Wouldn’t hurt,” he suggested. The story he told Walter in what felt like forever ago popped in to his head. He remembered the reason he told Walt the story in the first place – in the hopes that he would cut the kid loose and let Mike finish up the job Jesse had started in that drug den. But here he was sitting across from the kid, marveling at the way the tables had turned, about to regale him with the same memory, only no longer a cautionary tale about half-measures.

 

                “I’m going to tell you about my first kill. And I want you to pay attention, Jesse. Take notes if you have to. Because you need to hear this. Now … I told you I was a cop at one time, right? Working the beat, I was there quite a few years before I had a … well, let’s just say I was invited to leave the force.” Mike leaned back against his seat, his eyes locked on Jesse’s, as that long ago sideways asshole materialized into his thoughts again.

 

                “It was a domestic abuse situation – one of our regulars – but this particular piece of shit ended up killing his wife, eventually. Or girlfriend, I never did get the whole story. Caved her head in with the base of a blender. However … a few weeks before this happened I had picked him up on a call. We’d let him dry out overnight before he’d get let go in the morning, the usual since she wasn’t ever going to press charges. But … I was on my own that night since my partner was sick, and me and this charmer, we’d had a bit of a come-to-Jesus moment. I threatened to kill him if he ever touched his girlfriend again. Even put a gun in his mouth for effect. Almost pulled the trigger. But I didn’t. I’d never even shot my gun off before then. And this guy deserved it more than anyone you’ve ever met. Big guy, too. When we arrested him at the murder scene he was crying like a little girl. Just a mess. As if he hadn’t done it himself. Going on about his disease, how he couldn’t control himself, blah blah blah. Those of us there that night – we were all ready to take him out back and put a bullet in his head just to shut him up.” He remembered being held back at one point by a few of the other officers, his fury bubbling to the surface so quickly it had winded him, taking a punch at Gordy before the men had been on him. “This woman was dead, and I could have stopped it. I knew that. Felt it run through me like cold sweats. I should have followed through and pulled the trigger when I had the chance.”

 

                “Yeah,” said Jesse, his voice low and husky. “The guy definitely deserved it.”

 

                Mike pointed towards Jesse. “He did. You remember that. Some people – a lot of people – they’re poison. They’ll infect everyone around them their whole life, turn everything they touch to shit. You recognize them, as soon as you get the chance to put ‘em down, you put them down. You understand?”

 

                Jesse nodded, staring with wide eyes and listening with intensity as Mike continued.

 

                “Well, a few days later, I’m getting called in to talk with my captain. Turns out Mr. Wonderful decided to come forth about our little stopover the night I took him out in the woods. Was pressing charges and everything. On the force, we have a code, and you always protect your own. My boss wasn’t looking to make me take the fall in this, was doing his best to do some damage control, but … the asshole’s lawyer was a good one. It ended up being quite a nasty bit of business. I refused to play, wouldn’t admit to anything, but I guess there was enough doubt to spin the narrative on the case and this guy … he only did three months before they let him walk. For bashing in this young girl’s brains. I was asked to resign, which was not the best time for me to be out of work. Charlene, my wife … they’d found a tumor in her brain the month before.”

 

                “Crap,” Jesse muttered softly.

 

                “Now, maybe that had something to do with my decision later on, maybe not. Maybe I just see things how they need to be. But I scrambled, got my private investigator license, and had a fair amount of business going in a pretty short time. Bail bonds tended to pay the hospital bills. Charlene was doing alright with her treatments, but all I kept thinking about was Gordy, that shit stain still walking around, getting rowdy in bars, acting like he’d been the one victimized. I still had friends on the force; they’d kept me abreast of his shenanigans. So, one night I was doing surveillance on a creep case. Infidelity investigation – older married guy seeing some girl young enough to be his daughter, that kind of thing. Pretty easy stuff, but you find yourself out late most nights sitting around dive motel parking lots. Mm, I worked long hours a lot, actually. It was hard seeing what was going on at home. My son had to take the brunt of that. He’s never going to forgive me for it, either, but I pretty much deserve that.”

 

                Mike glanced through the windshield to the street ahead, the glaring signs across the road leaving a flood of colors warped in the glass. “So, I’m sitting there with my headphones, listening to the goings on between the two people I’d been paid to follow, when who do I see walking out of the bar next door, drooping and swaying like he’s three sheets to the wind, but that Danny-Boy-singing son-of-a-bitch. He starts heading across the parking lot, walks right in front of my car. I could have shot him right there. But instead, I wait until he gets down the lot a little farther, watch him practically fall down drunk a few times before he gets on the sidewalk. I start the car, let the engine idle a moment while I watch. Waited till he got down to the end of the block, him taking his time about it, whistling like an asshole. I follow him for another block, see him turn down a street with shitty row housing. He goes inside one, I go down the back alley road behind them. I find his back door and break in quiet as a mouse. Figured Gordy must still be in mourning. The kitchen is a pigsty; he’s got to be living on his own. I can hear the television going, and the rest of the house is pretty dark. So I’m creeping up to the living room at the front of the house, and this time, there’s no gun. I’ve got a knife for the job. And she was a beaut, too. Curves in the blade, a real art piece. Had that knife for a long time before I had to let it go in someone’s stomach. Anyway, Gordy’s sitting in his barcalounger, feet up, not a care in the world, watching some piece of shit Burt Reynolds movie. We’re not talking _The Longest Yard,_ or _Hooper_ , any of the quality stuff like that, but one of those shit shows he made in the eighties before he ended up on tv. And Gordy’s laughing. Like a pig snuffling for truffles. So I grabbed a towel from the kitchen, slip up behind him nice and simple, and I chokehold him with the towel, holding on to the top of his head so he can’t do much but flap his arms about and kick. I pull the lounger all the way back, get my knee on his chest, and he’s getting ready to scream when I point the blade right to his eye. Shuts him up quick. Looks as scared as he did before. And I can see he’s recognized me right away. Because that was important, you see? I needed him to see me. He had to understand that there were consequences to his actions. He’d been given an chance and he fucked up, made a big mistake. And that’s what happens to most of us in this trade. Sooner or later, we all make a mistake. It ain’t personal, kid.”

 

                Jesse’s eyes had gotten even bigger, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously. “Then what happened? Did’yu kill him there?”

 

                “Blade went through the base of his throat like butter. I dumped him in the trunk, which wasn't easy on my back, let me tell you. Like I said, the guy was big. Turned that stupid movie off first. Made it look like Gordy had to go somewhere in a hurry. Then I buried him out where I took him the first time. Once his parole officer discovered he was missing about a week later, there wasn’t much of a heartfelt search. People there were happy to be rid of him.”

 

                It was quiet as Mike finished, Jesse still staring at him in a cross between dismay and resolve. He reached into his pocket suddenly, fished out his cigarettes and pulled one out to light.

 

                “So that was it? You turn pro after that? Is that what this story is about?” He rolled down the window and exhaled a stream of smoke, the blinking colors twirling through it like a ladder to the night sky.

 

                “No. It’s to tell you that some people just need to go. You’re just cutting away the cancer. And if you have the stones for it, then you don’t blink when you say you’re gonna do it. You just do it and the world continues to turn, people still carry on, go to work, have families, live their lives.”

 

                Jesse was nodding his head. “Yeah, I get that, okay? I don’t … have a problem with that. But it’s the innocent ones. The ones who get ground up in this shit and we’re all supposed to pretend like it was some tragic mistake. I don’t want to hurt anyone, Mike. And I’m starting to feel like … like I’m hurting people just by doing this, you know? Like, maybe _I’m_ the cancer.”

 

                Mike sighed heavily. Sometimes, there was no reaching the kid. “Jesse, you’re doing well, right now. Fring has you wearing the big boy boots and you know what? Those boots can fit you one day, if you stop thinking that shit and start focusing on the job at hand. You don’t need Walter, or me, or anyone, to tell you that you know what you’re doing. Start having a little faith in yourself. Gus is going to want to step down one day. Who do you think he’s going to be looking at to take up the mantle? It sure as hell ain’t gonna be me.”

 

                Jesse darted a glance at Mike, his distrust billowing around him, and took another puff on his cigarette, blowing the smoke out of the open window in a contemplative breath. When he turned back to face Mike, there was a resolute gleam in his eyes.

 

                “Hey, Mike, can I ask you something? And … I just want the truth, okay?”

 

                “Oh, boy,” Mike said gruffly. “With an intro like that, I’m on pincushions over here. What do you need to know, kid?”

 

                There was the slightest hesitancy as he opened his mouth to speak, scanning the parking lot with a melancholic streak as he worked his jaw back and forth.

 

                “Um, it’s … it’s about the day you first took me out for the dead drops.” He stared at Mike in concentration. “I thought you were taking me out to the desert to kill me.”

 

                “Yeah, I figured you might,” Mike drawled.

 

                “And then … well … that night. Those two guys suddenly showing up to rob us. Well, rob _me,_ ‘cause you were conveniently inside getting the next stash. I wonder … how did those guys know where to find us? What we were even up to? They hadn’t been tracking us before. It was like … you know, someone told them to be there at that moment.”

 

                “I suppose,” Mike said with slow deliberation. “There are other organizations that know about Gus and his operators. Just because you hadn’t spotted them before, doesn’t mean they weren’t watching us.”

 

                “Yeah, maybe.” Jesse looked down at this lap, where the gun sat, and sighed, made sure to tap his ash out of the window. “Look. Just tell me, okay?” He looked up and Mike could see a deep weariness captured in the kid’s face, making him look older than his years. “Did Gus set that up?”

 

                Mike took a long breath. “Now why would he do that?” he asked, studying the kid’s reactions carefully.

 

                “I don’t know, to test me? Send some guys out in a fake robbery just to see what I’d do. If … if, you know, I was worth anything. If I could handle myself.”

 

                “And you think he needs to stage a robbery attempt in order to glean that? Are you sure that’s not Walter talking?”

 

                Jesse’s expression went from guarded to impassioned in a second. “Well? Is he right? I mean, look what happened. I … I felt useful. Needed. And like, all of a sudden, Gus wants to use me to help him with all of this other stuff, and it’s pissing off Mr. White. And the more he gets pissed, the more difficult he is, right? More of an asshole? Is that what Gus wanted? To … to drive a wedge between us? Was that the plan?”

 

                Mike leaned back, chuckled as he shook his head. The kid was getting too smart for his own good. He’d been hanging around Walter too long. For a fleeting moment, Mike considered telling Jesse the truth, let him understand that there would always be games, that he’d need to learn how to play a few of his own if he was going to make it. But when he glanced back at the kid, still staring at him with that earnest neediness written in every feature, those blue eyes staggering in their desperation, Mike couldn’t do it. He thought of his darling Charlene again, how the truth had pierced and deflated her.

 

                “No, Jesse. That wasn’t a set-up,” he said with finality. The camera embedded in Jesse’s wall flitted into his thoughts again, and he pointed to the gun in Jesse’s lap. “Now, let’s talk about when we can get some practice in ….”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, all, for your notes on Walt. I am always striving to do right by the characters, to get their voices on point. It's really the main reason I write in this fandom to begin with. I'm always open to any concrit and feedback if any of the characters ever sound 'off', although I'm aware we don't all see the characters the same. The way I write fanfiction is rather different to the way I write my own stuff, because I do really work hard to create a strong visual, my hope being that by reading you can simply summon up the action as an episode in your head. The rhythms in the dialogue from the show were really extraordinary. Mike's rhythm was hard to capture, but I hope I was at least semi-successful. 
> 
> ZeRunaway - lol, I can see Walter saying such a thing! But I like to think of those few moments when we'd actually see Walt's compassion for Jesse come across his face.  
> panademonium - wow! I didn't know if you were still reading! I imagined you've been quite busy lately, what with your hospital stay and all. Hope you are doing well. And yes, you should be worried for everyone. This is the world of Breaking Bad, after all.  
> And thank you so much Sega Barrett and serafinafour for your entries! Ha, serafina, I will be looking to illustrate some more Walt-punch-worthy moments. He's just so good at those.


	19. The Beast

 

_“Been working a lot...It's in a laundromat, it's totally corporate...It's like rigid, all kinds of red tape, my boss is a dick, the owner, super dick, don't know if we're ever going to meet him, everybody's scared of the dude. Place is full of dead-eyed douchebags, the hours suck, and nobody knows what's going on.”_

                “Yeah, come on, tell me you want it, bitch. You want this lily white ass, don’t you?”

 

                Jesse spoke aloud to the empty room, the only other sound the slick, rhythmic slaps of his hand meeting his balls as it flew up and down his cock, and he sped up the movement with his ratcheting arousal. He had graduated up to three fingers inside of him, but it was still taking too long, he’d been at this for a while now.

 

                He scooted closer to the top of his bed, lifted his legs up to rest them on top of the headboard. “Tell me what you’re gonna do to it,” he muttered, his voice husky and goading. His arm pumped, fingers practically a blur as he masturbated faster, desperate for a release. “C’mon! Stick your tongue in there. Lick my asshole, you fucking creep.” Jesse attempted to feel it as he visualized Gus’s head between his legs, the way Gus filled him, always touching him, working him in some way. He just wanted to swim in the sensations he knew Gus could instill in him, float a few minutes longer on the back of another orgasm. This would be his third one in as many hours, if he could manage to make it to completion.

 

                All the way to his house, once he’d been able to get in his own car, Jesse’s thoughts had been on getting off. He’d felt Gus watching him as he worked away in the lab, every squeak or whir of the camera making him wonder what Gus was doing at the other end. He imagined floating eyes behind him, could feel imprints of hands running along his back, making him shiver as he punched buttons on the control board, or while lifting up the lids to add in the next ingredient. When he’d changed by the lockers, he felt lips brush the back of his neck, making him feel wired with adrenalin, an electric hum reverberating through him. By the time he’d been driving down the stretch of desert where the laundry truck left him his hard-on had become insistent. He ignored it during the drive for as long as he could, until he’d made it to a block from his house, where he unzipped his pants and stuck a hand inside to stroke himself, finally. As soon as he walked through his front door, he was stripping his clothes. He hadn’t even made it to his room for the first round, but laid on his futon for a quick toss off. He’d been so aroused, he hadn’t lasted long, his orgasm roaring out of him. But even after he’d gone upstairs to take a shower, his thoughts soon drifted back to the last visit to Gus’s house, summoning the things that had been done to him over the weekend. By the time his shower was finished, the water had gone cold and he’d gotten off again.

 

                It was still repulsive to revisit the images lingering in his head from the work-out room, but the snapshots of Gus pushing his way into Jesse wouldn’t go away, hovered like Polaroids as he beat off trying to picture Andrea spread before him. He seized on a picture of her from the other night, on her knees on the bed with her mouth around his cock, her body nestled between his legs as she held on to his thighs. Her hair had hung down in sheets that tickled his skin, but her eyes had stayed locked on his, sometimes closing, as though she was in prayer, her tongue worshipful as she’d moved his hands to the top of her head. Jesse slowed his hand, attempted to mimic her touch, yet as soon as he was lost in the memory, Gus would force his way in. He could see Gus watching him in the mirror, looking at him over his shoulder as he fucked him. Jesse twisted the fingers buried in him, played and pulled at his balls for a moment as the two scenes collided, his body haunted by them, one so selfless and the other steeped in possession. For a fleeting instant, there was symmetry to the sensations traveling under his skin, like a creek winding its way to the river, and he felt straddled and cradled at the same time, his head tipped back so that his shoulders and neck were off the bed, mouth open as he begged to no one to let him come.

 

                He lost the thread, the expanding desire deflated in the next second while his body slumped to the bed in defeat. Jesse lay there exhausted yet unsatisfied, the restlessness returning as he sat up and looked around his room for something to quiet his mind. Video games were no replacement for sex, and he certainly wasn’t about to start reading anything from the stack of books sitting on his nightstand, a gift from Gus before it had been time for Jesse to leave.

 

                “You should read more often,” Gus had said. “Give yourself some time to reflect on things. Listen to other voices besides your own. Here,” and he’d started handing Jesse paperbacks right off of the bookcase shelves. Jesse craned his neck to read the spines of the books again: _The Savage Detectives_ ( _“Bolaño understood life,_ Gus had told him), _Death In the Andes_ by some Mario guy, and even a book of poetry, half of which were in Spanish. There was no way Jesse was reading poetry, and he wasn’t really into crime novels, so the other two were only slightly more appealing. There was a much slimmer paperback on top of them, but Jesse didn’t want to read about a prince, either, by some Italian guy from Renaissance times, Gus had explained.

 

                He got up and slipped on a pair of long track shorts, his body feeling wasted but the rest of him still buzzing. Washing his hands in the bathroom, Jesse tried to shut out the thoughts in his head by splashing cold water over his face, then dropping his head in the sink to get fully doused. Mr. White’s plan was circulating in there somewhere, and Jesse wondered if he’d even be able to arrange another meeting. He would sometimes check out of his window late at night and spot Tyrus on the curb across the street. There hadn’t been any strange cars in the area for at least a week, though, and Jesse couldn’t decide if that was due to Gus trusting him more or if they were now busy watching Walt. Or the dickhead brother-in-law. Either way, he didn’t see it as a good sign.

 

                Jesse ran down his stairs to head to the kitchen, needing to do something. He might as well look for something to eat. But just as he was about to turn through the archway he froze in mid-step. He turned to the bookcase in the wall, scanned the shelves as he reminded himself that it was no longer there. It had been put away, hidden, when Andrea and Brock started coming by again. But what had he done with it? When he stepped into the kitchen, he went to the drawers by the pantry that held his clutter, worked as his catch-all storage center. He opened the first one, but there was nothing but random tools, gum packages, old lighters, and various crap inside. The drawer next to it was pulled out – he didn’t spend a lot of time in his kitchen and tended to forget where everything was – and something jammed it so that it wouldn’t open all the way. He pushed it back and then tried harder to open it, the drawer banging loudly as soon as it was pulled free on its runners, pieces of junk flying up in the momentum. There it sat, right in the center, the noxious pinkish flesh color not doing anything to help it resemble a human implement. Jesse could barely remember when he had noticed it on his shelf, or why it had even been left there, but he’d been aware of the rampant fucking happening in his living room during the week-long party. It was a bunch of meth heads, after all, and sex was inevitable. God only knew what some of those freaks had gotten up to while he was asleep in his bed – or more likely, screwing whichever chick had come up for the night.

 

                He briefly recalled the brunette who liked to play video games with him, remembered the night she’d come up with a friend and the three of them had formed a daisy chain of sorts, one girl sucking him off while he tongued out the other, and that girl eating out her friend. It had taken his mind somewhere else that wasn’t fixated on death for all of thirty minutes. The girl giving him the blowjob had snuck her finger into his ass, and Jesse had let her, wishing they could just stay in that circle for the rest of the night, floating and free.

 

                He sighed as he stared at the sex toy. There was _definitely_ something wrong with him that he was even contemplating putting this monster into his body. Perhaps Andrea’s suggestion that they visit her favorite sex shop was a little more necessary than he’d anticipated. Jesse glanced at the dishwasher. Squeezing his eyes shut, he pulled the buttplug from the kitchen drawer, his hand curling around the base of it and bringing it to end of the counter, where he quickly opened the dishwasher door and threw the plug on the top rack, its pink, conical shape falling between some dirty glasses. He set the appliance up for a wash and turned it on, feeling sick with himself the entire time. He really needed to do something that had nothing whatsoever to do with getting off. Jesse scratched at his arms then rubbed a hand across his chest, fingers automatically tweaking one of the piercings. There was a jolt in his dick as Jesse fell into another dreamy memory, feeling Gus running hands over him, then filling him deep, making him come so hard. He felt like he was going crazy.

 

                There was at least forty minutes on his wash cycle. Jesse ran back upstairs again, forgetting about the food. Just the exertion of racing up the stairs was good, and Jesse went for his running shoes, swiftly getting himself dressed to go outside. He could use a run. Work off some of this turbulent energy.

 

                Out on his front porch, Jesse looked down the street again, watching for watchers. No Tyrus. No Mr. White. It was only just getting dark, the color in the sky a spectacular swirl of orange and fuchsia against a deepening blue. He went down to the grass, noting that he’d have to get the neighbor kids to mow it for him again. There was a languor to his stretches this time, like his body knew it was in the right place. Gus had a point about him lying around too much. It wasn’t good for him to keep thinking the same miserable shit over and over again – he needed _action,_ needed to be working towards something, some kind of resolution.

 

                Jesse stood up and did one last stretch, grabbing a foot and pulling up his leg from the back. The front door in the house next to his opened and a woman stepped outside.

 

                “Hey, Mrs. Schnauz,” he called with a wave. She gave him a strained smile, held up a hesitant hand, then went right back into the house, the door slamming. Jesse sighed again. Mrs. Schnauz was a straight-up MILF, too. He’d had a few flirty conversations with her after she and her husband had moved in several months back, but ever since the meth party, she avoided him like the plague.

 

                He took off into the gloaming of the neighborhood, his mood becoming calm almost instantly. There was a subtle breeze with the oncoming night and Jesse closed his eyes for a moment, let the air cool his fevered state. Too many people were crowding his head, offering their advice, with Jesse antsy from his inability to respond, wanting to make his own way but at a crossroads as to how to move forward. He thought about Mr. White again, whether he should just follow what the man said the way he always did. But Mr. White didn’t have a clue what Jesse was up against, couldn’t really understand how difficult it was proving to be to foil Gus. This lethal game should have been between the two of them. They were the smart ones. Jesse felt caught in the middle, a pawn that was pushed around the board wherever they needed him to go.

 

                And Gus – Gus had wormed his way under Jesse’s skin, malignantly and with ease. Part of him could see what Gus was doing. Gus figured him for a junkie, so he was treating him like one – dealing Jesse something new and sensual, capturing him in a powerful grip of renewed hunger. But it had to be like when he’d come out of the clinic. His mind had been clear and the addiction had lost some of its hold on him, feeling more like a pestering friend than his lord and master. His grief had been too consuming, the drugs no longer appealing, but simply a reminder of loss. Jesse had to keep his head clear now, as well, and not allow Gus to ensnare him with his twisted little mindfucks.

 

                It wasn’t just the heightened pleasure of deviant sex that Gus was instigating, however. He had continued to chat about his improvement plan for Jesse, making more suggestions once they were in the kitchen working on lunch or an early dinner, Jesse hadn’t been sure which any longer. It had been several hours after that hellish morning fuck. Jesse had awakened in a daze, his body still vibrating like a tuning fork. Gus had given him a leisurely, steaming bath, rubbed him down with massage oils and aloe after, with Jesse sprawled out on the bed, finally giving Jesse some silk boxers and a wife beater to wear when he was done. Then he brought Jesse down the stairs like a father parading his daughter to her own _quinceañera._ He’d wanted to show Jesse how to make another weird dish with shrimp and rice, had set up the counter like they were guest hosting a cooking show. “ _Camarones,”_ he’d said, pointing to the shrimp, “ _y arroz,”_ and the rice, as if Jesse were two years old just learning how to talk, as if he’d never looked at a fucking Mexican menu before. He would do it intermittently throughout the evening, too, translating something he’d said into Spanish and then expecting Jesse to repeat it. Jesse held his tongue, did what Gus wanted and recited the words as best as he could, his mind on Brock and Andrea and ricin as he did so.

 

                “What of your family? Are you no longer in contact with them? You,” – Gus had paused as he’d buttered his bread – “Rarely mention them.”

 

                “They kinda disowned me,” he had explained as they ate, feeling stupid about the whole thing now. Buying the house out from under his parents had been a cheap shot. He couldn’t take it back, however. His dad would never forget it, would never allow Jesse a chance to make it up to them. “I never really got on with my old man, and my mom does what he says, so …”

 

                “Why do you think this is? Your difficult relationship with your father? What was he like when you were growing up?” Gus kept his tone conversational, his expression holding only a faint interest, but the eyes shone darkly, making Jesse open up a bit.

 

                “Uh … a dick? I mean, not that I was this great kid or anything. I know I was pain in the ass. Got into all kinds of trouble at school. But then, I hated school. People telling you what to do, how to think. That’s my old man to a tee. He wanted me to be this … I don’t know, like a brainiac. Like some total nerd, who has to get the highest scores on a bunch of tests that no one cares about except school administrators and my dad. It’s all bullshit, though. They got my little brother on that hamster trail now. You should see his room. Loaded with trophies. The kid’s, like, a certified genius. I mean, he’s good at everything, and he’s only just turned thirteen. Kid’s going to run a Fortune 500 company one day.” His pride in Jake came through in his voice.

 

                “I see,” Gus said. It stayed quiet for a few moments while they continued eating. “I had a difficult time with my father, as well,” he suddenly uttered into the silence. “I was definitely not what he wanted in a son. Although, I did try. To make him happy.”

 

                Gus had given him a cushion for his chair, the aloe soothing on his inflamed skin, and for a little while, Jesse had neglected to think about what Gus had done to him as they talked, suddenly curious about his host. “I’m guessing it didn’t work?” Jesse had asked.

 

                The smile on Gus’s face had been bitter. “No.” He had poured himself some more wine, then had leaned across the table to give Jesse a little bit in the empty wine glass by his plate. “He preferred my brother, too. For a time. Until Mateo … well, they had a strained relationship as well, but at least Mateo was no … he was of the proper orientation. Women loved Mateo. He was quite the heartbreaker.”

 

                “So, what happened between them, then? Why’d your brother get mixed up in drugs?”

 

                “Why did you?” Gus asked, with a raise of his eyebrow, the question rhetorical. Jesse stared at his wine, had picked up the glass and sniffed it before taking a taste. He’d glanced at the bottle, noting the varietal to file away. Gus liked reds, too, making Jesse wonder which would dissolve the white powder faster.

 

                “My father was a powerful man. Discipline was very important to him. It was a very strict household. We did not … it was no good to cross him. But Mateo would test his patience. He did it on purpose and would get beaten by my father often, although I tried to intervene, tried to get him to calm down. But my brother had a wild, restless spirit. Even at the academy he was a handful.”

 

                “Your dad beat you?” Jesse had studied Gus carefully as he waited for an answer, feeling accusatory. There was the tiniest flicker of something in Gus’s eyes, a blink and then a cold stare at the wine he’d held in his hand.

 

                “It was … his way.”

 

                “Oh. Is that why you – you got this thing? With the whippings and shit? Obviously, that turns you on. What, did your old man make you bust a nut when he went Catholic school teacher on your ass?”

 

                Gus had frowned, looking tetchy. “It is more complicated than that.”

 

                There had been no answers that evening, but Jesse worried again about the coming Friday, what he might have to endure if he didn’t get his shit together. He looked around at the houses as he ran down the street, the area foreign to him even though it was only three blocks from his own place. He must have been down this way before, back when he was only spending time at the house taking care of his aunt, but there had been a lot of renovations and development in his neighborhood and he rarely took notice of the changes. He stopped suddenly, noticing the small park sign at the end of a cul-de-sac. There _was_ a park around here; he remembered it now. Jesse put his hands on his hips as his breath came in pants, wondering if he could use it as a meeting place as he walked towards the entrance. A flash image of the park fucking guys interrupted this thought, and he shook his head free of it, not relishing the idea of getting busted by the cops in a park late at night with Mr. White like it was some illicit fuck.

 

                Jesse took off running again, clearing his head of Mr. White. He thought about Mike’s story, of its veiled attempt to get Jesse to dump Walter, too. But what Mike didn’t know was that it had only reinforced his decision to get rid of Gus. Gus, who wanted to make Jesse the head honcho of his operation. Even Mike believed that. It was enough to make his head spin, the idea that someone would invest so much in him, would want Jesse to succeed. It was a concept he was unfamiliar with, yet it both thrilled him and made him anxious. Gus had too high of a price to pay. It was just his type of luck that it had to be a sociopath that would take an interest in him.

 

               He came upon the corner to his block, feeling a little surprised the run was over so soon. He’d have to get one of those mile trackers for his wrist so he could chart his progress. Jesse gave one last push of adrenalin as he sped towards his house, sprinting in the last stretch while imagining his energy being burned up and turned into vapors leaving streaks behind him. He slowed right before he got to his door, his heart racing but his body feeling good. Jesse walked a few tight circles as he waited for his breathing to return to normal, felt the stitch in his side fade. When he went inside, he walked straight to the kitchen, opened up the dishwasher, steam still escaping from its corners. He took hold of the thing’s heated base, ran upstairs to his room and threw it on his bed, then turned to go down the hallway to his bathroom. He needed another shower.

 

******

“Oh, fuck, oh shit, yeah, _yeah._ Do it, you fuck. _Do it._ C’mon,” he moaned, getting closer.

 

                The thing had stopped feeling uncomfortable and started setting off sparks inside him midway through and now he felt the rush of his body getting ready for a big one, the release taunting him with its nearness and potential for window-shattering levels of explosiveness. Everything was _lit up._ It had taken some time for him to even get the beast inside of his ass, taking it slowly not simply due to the size, but because he could. He liked having control over his body once again, the way it should be.

 

                “Aaaahhh, Christ. _Mmmmggghh_ – god, _fuck._ Fuck me. _Fuck me_.” Jesse was pounding his cock hard with his fist, his legs bent and spread wide. Binder clips from his junk drawer pinched his nipples, right over the barbells, and he brushed a hand over the bent-back wings of one of them, sending another shock wave through him and right into his dick and his ass. “ _Yes!_ C’mon, pound that hole. God, do it, _please_.” His murmurs were low and gravelly, his eyes closed as he saw the reflections in the mirror again. His eyes suddenly flashed open, the light in the room making him wince, and Jesse scooted his body towards the headboard again, using one hand to reach for the top of it. He grabbed hold of it with both hands, planted his feet on the top, heels hooked on the beveled edge, and then slammed his ass into the wood, the thing inside of him absorbing the impact.

 

                _“Shhhiiiiitt!! Aaaaah, aaaah_ , god, _Gawwwwd!”_ His right hand quickly resumed their strokes as he dropped back down to the bed with legs still high. The groans coming out of his mouth were wanton and savage, his need to come reducing him to a hedonistic swamp of sensation. His mouth stayed open as he felt the wave surge, voicing reiterations of long grunts. When he felt the shift, the heat in his body creeping into cold, and the pressure in his balls going lax, he lifted his head. Kept his mouth open but closed his eyes, his hand no longer part of his arm but fused to his dick and angling it towards his face. The jettison of warm pulp started to land: mostly on his belly and chest, but some of it hitting his cheek, a few drops on his tongue. Jesse let it sit there for a moment before he swallowed, his body singing its satisfaction as it started to come down.

 

                It wasn’t as if Jesse hadn’t tasted his own semen before. All guys had, at one time or another. But the idea of tasting someone else’s was still daunting. What would it mean after? The fact that he’d sucked a guy off? Imagining a picture of it made him squirm – his mouth stretched wide around Gus’s cock, his tongue flicking along the underside, bathing Gus’s ballsac in spit, Gus holding his mouth open with one of those wire things, his head held back as Gus came over his face, probably a mirror around to capture the whole thing, so Jesse would have to see it, would be forced to look at himself with Gus’s jizz smeared on his lips, or his cheeks, dribbling down his chin. Jesse stared up at the ceiling with eyes widened enough that they hurt. He absolutely had to take Gus down this weekend. Make him sick before anything like that could happen.

 

                Jesse lay there for a while, basking in the pulsations and dreaminess of his orgasm. He didn’t want this. Didn’t like the feeling of becoming something he could no longer recognize. He lifted his head up again and looked to his nightstand to search for his phone. It wasn’t there. He tried to remember where he’d left it, caught an image of it sitting on the island in his kitchen. Andrea. He needed to talk to Andrea. He unclamped the black clips at his nipples and immediately shouted in pain as feeling entered them again. It fucking hurt worse now than during the session.

 

                Jesse sat up slowly, his legs protesting on the way down. The behemoth was still lodged inside. It was going to be obnoxious taking it out, but then, Gus had already gotten him used to that. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, thought about having Andrea over again. He imagined what it would feel like, Andrea riding his dick while the plug remained where it was. Probably amazing. He put his feet on the ground, pushed tentatively off of the bed and stood up. It felt weird but it was okay, he could move. Jesse took a few steps, his eyes closing again at the sensation of it moving with him. He walked into the hallway, his steps trepidatious down the stairs. By the time he arrived in the kitchen, the phone sitting where he’d left it, his cock had unbelievably stirred to life again. He picked up his cell and draped the top half of his body across the cool tile of the island, his chest throbbing but enjoying the chill. Punching Andrea’s name to dial her number, he spread his legs a little wider, wondered how he looked to Gus like this. Gus obviously dug him. A lot. Like, a ridiculous amount. It was scary to be wanted that way.

 

                “Hey, babe,” he heard in his ear.

 

                “ _Hey_ ,” he drawled, his cheek resting on the counter. “What are you doing?” he asked, with a voice smoky and full of sex.

 

                “Um, just getting the dishes put away. I need to check on Brock’s homework in a minute. What are you up to? I was hoping we’d see you tonight.”

 

                “Yeah. Here’s the thing, though. I got home late and it’s, you know, a school night and everything, so …” He let the sentence fade off, the pulse in his bottom getting stronger. “Hey, you wouldn’t be able to … like, do you think your grandmother could come over and watch Brock?” He knew it was a long shot but he suddenly needed her very badly.

 

                “Jesse, like you just said, it’s kind of late. It would be pretty short notice. She’s probably already for bed. That woman gets up at the crack of dawn.”

 

                “Yeah, but … I _really_ want you to come over. Like, really bad.”

 

                “Why don’t you come over here, then?” she suggested, quieting her voice.

 

                “Um,” Jesse twisted upright, rocked his body back and forth. He pinched the bar in his nipple and felt his prick jerk. “I don’t know if that would be such a good idea,” he added hoarsely. “We’d make an awful lot of noise. The things I want to do to you, baby. They might hear you the next block over. My house is a lot more … you know, _sound proof.”_

“Well … you can always gag me,” she whispered, sounding coquettish and sexy.

 

                “Maybe I will. Once my cock is down your throat.”

 

                There was a pause. Jesse closed his eyes, wished she was there with him in the kitchen, wanted to feel her hands wrapped around him.

 

                “I’d like that. I could still make sounds, though. The way you make me choke on your big cock, baby. I want to take everything you give me.”

 

                Jesse started to stroke himself off. “Yeah? I got a lot of ideas, hon. Make you my little sex slave. Would you like that? To do what I tell you? Every dirty, nasty thing that comes into my head.  
Would you do that for me?”

 

                “Yes,” she answered with a moan. “Wait a minute.” There was movement on her end. He heard footsteps on the stairs, and then a low murmur as she held the phone to her shoulder. A door closed. Then another. “Okay, I’m back. Just a sec, let me get these off.”

 

                Jesse’s prick had now become fully hard as he saw the image of Andrea lying on her bed, about to stick her fingers in her twat. He wanted to be in his room, wanted to get off with her.

 

                “Yeah, spread those legs, baby. I saw some crazy shit on the internet the other day. I know some … stuff we can buy. I can tie you up in some mad poses. There’s, like, equipment for it, and everything. I … I was thinking about getting some weights, anyway.” He was almost running up his stairs, his bottom half screaming, making him pant harder as he made it to the top. “Turn around, yo. Make sure your feet are up on the headboard. Damn, I wish I could see you.”

 

                “You want me to send you a picture?”

 

                “ _Hells, yeah!_ ” he exclaimed, throwing himself on his bed. “Send it right now, with your fingers stuffed inside your pussy, babe. I want to watch you fuck yourself.”

 

                The next twenty minutes went by in another blur, the shit coming out of his mouth filthier with every demand, getting ever more descriptive as he saw the entire thing behind his eyes, helped along by the photos Andrea sent him. He got on his knees, pushed his bottom against the headboard again, pressing hard against it as he stroked his cock faster, his hand now coated with lube. Listening to her made it seem real, made him feel like he was connected to another person that wanted what he wanted. A person that cared about him, who wasn’t just using him. He wanted to taste her, suck everything down that she filled his mouth with. Jesse stuck his fingers in his mouth, collected on top of each other to make one big claw. His phone had dropped to the bed, but he could still hear her struggling to moan, as if there was something trapped in her mouth, too. His thumb hooked his chin, and he tried to make his throat open up as his hand, now starting to ache, teased the head of his cock. He played with it slowly, caught in a fever, and when he heard Andrea call for him, he took the fingers out, wet and slick, and picked up the phone again.

 

                They talked each other off soon after, Andrea coming a beat before he did. As his body recovered, he decided he had to get that thing out of him right away. This was getting ridiculous. But Andrea was talking, telling him some kind of news.

 

                “What? I didn’t catch that. I’m wiped out over here.”

 

                “The place to do our … you know, the piercings. Have you picked one out yet? I know one that does really good work. My friend got something done there. You think you can come by tomorrow? We can decide what we’re both going to do. I … well, I have some ideas, too. If you’re cool with that.”

 

                “Oh … uh, yeah. We can do that. And sure, I mean – I totally want to hear your picks. It’s gonna be awesome.” He felt a plummeting sensation in his stomach, the dread swimming through him again as he imagined what Gus was would be choosing for him.

 

                What _Gus_ wanted to see – if he was still standing by then. Jesse thought about the meeting with Mr. White again.

 

                Suddenly, it was absolutely imperative that he get the plug out of his ass. “Babe? I’m going to have to call you back, okay? I – uh, I got … something just came up. I need to go, okay?” She started to protest, but he babbled some more, got her off the phone. Jesse tried to sit up, felt nauseous as a series of shakes hit his body. He dropped himself to the floor, not caring that he landed on his hip bone. Jesse crawled, dragging his body along the floor and into the bathroom. He needed to get that thing out of him. He was going to be sick.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was for nemesia.
> 
> Hey, Reddit IS good for something! Thanks, Mr. Sexy's Pizza.
> 
> http://i.imgur.com/qpKfDwC.png 
> 
> Courtesy of the Reddit Aaron Paul AMA from 2013
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kEK5_S740E4
> 
> I guess it's canon, then! Jesse was into anal pleasure. Go figure.
> 
> Oh, and one bit of shameless promotion. I bit the bullet and joined Tumblr. Feel free to ask me anything on that blog if would you prefer your anonymity:   
> http://elephantandthedove.tumblr.com/


	20. The Interview

 

_I’m the guy your boss brought here to show you how it’s done. And if this is how you run your lab, no wonder. You're lucky he hasn’t fired your ass. Now, if you don’t want that to happen, I suggest you stop whining like a little bitch and do what I say._

 

               

                 “Are you sure he has not said anything to her? Not the slightest suggestion on what he does?”

 

                “Boss, the kid doesn’t have a lot of deep conversations with the girl when she’s over there, if you get my drift. And I would think it likely that you do. From what we’re hearing, it doesn’t seem to me that we’re going to have a problem with Pinkman. He’s keeping his nose clean and his mouth shut. Walter, on the other hand, has been working on something, we just don’t know what. He’s been staying at his house, but the family is still at Schrader’s. And the news I get from my source is that they’re getting ready to pull the men off of Schrader’s residence, so he could be scrambling. I’d like to keep a closer eye on him.”

 

                Gus leaned back in his chair, listened to the leather upholstery creak with the motion while he watched the pounding of blue baking sheets on the screen before him. “I think this is wise. Take whomever you need.” It was quiet on the other end of the line for a moment. “Anything else?” Gustavo asked, detecting a question in the silence.

 

                “So … do we want to drop the surveillance? On Pinkman, I mean. We’ve got a lot of expensive equipment locked up in that house right now. And I need Tyrus in the field. I think we need to rally our forces on Schrader, circle the area regularly. I can’t do that with one guy; not without drawing suspicion.”

 

                “Take Tyrus, but leave everything where it is. This is simply a precaution. We … will see in a few weeks whether we need continued coverage.” Gus let out a long breath. “I agree that Walter needs more attention. Keep me posted on your findings. I’ll take care of Pinkman. We’ll submit the paperwork today.”

 

                “Okay, then.” There was a click and Gus dropped the phone to his desk, eyes scanning over Pinkman as he filled out the weight ledger. He was actually impatient for the boy to finish his work. It had been an interesting few days.

 

                He picked up his land line and punched in an extension. “Cynthia. I have an interview late today. A young man. He might ask for me at the front counter. Send him straight to my office when he arrives. I expect him at five.”

 

                “Yes, Gus, of course,” she replied. “Do you want me to check in with you before I leave at the end of my shift? I’ve got the schedules done for the next two weeks.”

 

                “No, that won’t be necessary. I’m expecting the interview to take a while. I won’t want to be disturbed.”

 

                “Yes, sir. I’ll keep a watch for him.”

 

                He disconnected the line and then hit the buttons for the lab. The phone rang several times as Gus watched Pinkman on the screen, the thin, dual trails from the boy’s earbuds annoying him as he waited for his call to be answered. Finally, the boy took notice of the ringing and ran over to the wall mount, pulling the earphones free.

 

                “Yeah?”

 

                “I need you to come to my restaurant after you are done. You have an interview at five o’clock. Be on time. And dress appropriately, please. Remember, this is a high-level position.”

 

                “Today?” Pinkman whined, running a hand over his head to scratch at the growth there. “Uh, I may have plans.”

 

                “Then cancel them,” Gus said. “Five o’clock,” he repeated before hanging up. Pinkman let out a groan, stretched his neck as he rolled his eyes to the ceiling. He slammed the receiver back into its cradle, flipped a vicious bird to the camera, and stomped back to his station.

 

                Pinkman’s antics didn’t faze Gus. He was becoming familiar with the boy’s posturing. Rather, he was hoping to see Pinkman carry on in the office the way he’d been doing the last few nights in his bed. His commitment to his marathon of masturbation had been inspiring to watch. Gus had ended up staying late, hadn’t left his office until after midnight, not wanting to miss a moment of the unbridled and relentless display happening onscreen. There was something defiant yet desperate in Pinkman’s self-abuse, his ongoing mutterings getting louder and more aggressive the more it went on. It had sent Gus on a spree of memories and imaginings, summoning Max’s face in the same moment of exquisite release for the boy one minute, then envisioning Pinkman in startling tableaus the next.

 

                The restaurant had still been open when Pinkman started, Gus having switched to the Margo Street feed as soon as the boy left the laundry. At first, Gus had been amused to see him take on the object that had seemingly appeared from nowhere. Gus’s curiosity spiked – had Pinkman owned this previously or had it been a new purchase? Its bulk was quite ambitious for the boy and Gus smiled in his smugness as he watched yet another orgasm roll out of Pinkman with full audio, turned up to the highest volume once all of the employees had departed.

 

                Gus’s excitement had grown, both in his chest and in his pants, but he’d simply savored each minute of it sitting at his desk. There would be time to give in to his desires later, when he had the boy before him. He had been content to merely watch for the evening. Pinkman had taken a break for a while, and Gus had wrapped up his work and had been about to go, but then, miraculously, the boy had come back to bed and started up again. He’d been talking to the girl previously, and that had irritated Gus at first, but at least she hadn’t been there in the flesh. Pinkman was different when he was with her. Initially, when Gus had watched them together, he had been fascinated by Pinkman’s dominant streak, somewhat surprised to see the roles reversed with the pair. The girl was obviously a sub, had apparently convinced Pinkman that he could play her master, and yet, it had been exhilarating to watch this transformation in the boy, observe the way he commanded her, handled her with such assuredness. But Pinkman was too affectionate; caring for the girl in a way that Gus did not want to see.

 

                “ _Gustavo, if you want me to do it, then I will. I am all yours, always and forever. I go where you go. There is no me without you.”_

_“You belong to me. No one else. You shall always be by my side, my love.”_

He had replayed his conversations with Max in his head as he’d watched Pinkman straddle his legs across his headboard while giving throaty cries to be fucked into oblivion. The rough urgency in the boy’s voice was addicting, and Gus had bent close to the screen, tapping a key to zoom the camera’s focus onto Pinkman’s face. The image became pixilated and blurrier as it magnified, but Gus leaned closer still, his nose almost touching the screen as he listened to Pinkman’s moans and furious commands. Soon only Pinkman’s head and shoulders had filled the rectangular borders, and the boy tipped it back so that the bony lump of his Adam’s apple was an arrowhead to the sky as he began to scream in short bursts for the oncoming climax, the wood clattering in the background providing a soundtrack as the headboard moved with the bed and the boy's body. Gus had given a huff of warm breath upon the screen, right over Pinkman’s face, the condensate leaving a wet film across the boy’s wide-open mouth. He ran a finger across the dew to leave a clear streak, Pinkman still groaning wantonly while his bottom lip quivered. The boy’s face had turned anguished, his eyes closing suddenly as a teardrop of semen arced across the frame and landed near his chin. Pinkman flinched as if he’d been slapped, and another creamy white blob spurt into the tuck of his neck. Pinkman had bent his head up briefly then let it drop back to the mattress with a heavy thump, his arms crossing to cover his eyes and forehead a second later, making Gus frown. The boy had stayed like that for several beats, until Gus had noticed that he was shaking, that the tremors had tracked into his chest and arms, before a sob was wrenched from Pinkman’s throat. Another, longer sob came as the boy turned on his side, towards the camera, and then Gus had watched him weep, Pinkman attempting to hold the tears in as his body shuddered violently. An angry whine had overwhelmed the speakers of the laptop, Pinkman’s lips pulled back in a grimace with teeth gritted into gleaming tombstones.

 

                “What the _hell_ is the matter with you?!” the boy had screeched into the walls of the room, the light from his lamp casting a halo around him.

 

                Gus had finally shut the laptop off, a sudden surge of feeling hitting the back of his throat. He’d swallowed it down, put his hand up to his neck to straighten the knot of his tie. Whenever Maximino had cried, Gus would find ways to make him stop.

 

_“Gustavo, what will I do when you no longer want me? When you are bored with me?”_

_“This will not happen. Not ever. In the center of the earth, I will push away the emeralds so that I can see you.”_

Gus had locked up the restaurant and made his way to his car, the last one in the lot, and had driven all the way home thinking of Pinkman.

 

                Gustavo sighed and watched the boy moving about the lab for a few minutes, still showing his aggravation. He liked seeing it. There was a fire in Pinkman that jumped into Gus each time he was with him. Gus remembered what that fire used to feel like when it was his own, but Pinkman’s was enough. _Pinkman_ was enough.

 

******

                “Gus, your five o’clock is here to see you,” Cynthia said over the phone. “I just sent him to your office.”

 

                “Thank you, Cynthia. Tell Juanita that I should not be disturbed during the interview. Have her take any messages. I will see you on Monday. Enjoy your days off. And tell your mother I said thank you, for the homemade bread.”

 

                He hung up the phone seated on his desk, but no sooner had he done so there was a knock at his door. “Come in,” he called.

 

                Pinkman stepped in and for a moment Gus hardly recognized him, his mouth almost dropping open at the sight of the boy in a suit. Pinkman was clad in navy, a sky blue shirt popping brightness from between the lapels of the jacket serving to draw glorious attention to the boy’s eyes. Even the tie was sharp, a monochromatic exclamation point to the ensemble. Gus stood up abruptly, instantly impressed with the metamorphosis. For a split second, he was speechless.

 

                “Jesse … come in. You … look very handsome.” Pinkman took a few steps closer to the desk, his expression tightened into blandness. “I approve of this attire. This is a good color for you. Well done.”

 

                Pinkman rolled his eyes, cast his gaze off to the side as he spoke. “Yeah, I know how to pick out a fucking suit. Big whoop. Don’t act so surprised.”

 

                “Not every man understands style. Please. Come around my desk. Let me look at you.” He paused to glance towards the entrance. “Wait – take care of the outside, first. The sign on my door needs to be reversed.” Pinkman stared at him dully for a beat then huffed as he dragged his feet across the office floor. Gus watched as the boy opened the door and flipped the laminated placard around to the ‘meeting in progress’ side, slipping it through the plexi glass holder. “Make sure you lock it,” Gus instructed him.

 

                Pinkman froze for a moment, looked back at Gus with a face full of mistrust, but followed orders. Gus heard the click and smiled.

 

                “Good. Now come over here where I can see you better.”

 

                “How long do I have to hang around here,” Pinkman asked skeptically. “I got stuff to do. Let’s hurry up and get this charade over with, alright?”

 

                Gus arched an eyebrow. “Come over to me,” he repeated more forcefully.

 

                Pinkman gave another heavy sigh as his head bent back and he glared at the ceiling with an aura of persecution. He shuffled over again, taking his time, but stood before Gus as a stanchion of defensiveness. “What?” he intoned.

 

                Gus stepped up to him, unbuttoned the boy’s jacket and opened it wide for inspection. He ran a hand up the crisp cotton of the shirt – there were lines still present from the folds of its packaged state – stroking a thumb over each hardened bump of the barbells on his way up the boy’s chest. Pinkman jerked his body, but remained rigid, studying Gus with an intensity that matched his posture.

 

                “Take this off,” Gus said.

 

                Pinkman glared darkly. “Take _what_ off?” he said dangerously.

 

                “All of it. Take everything off.”

 

                The boy gulped, looked to the door before glaring back at Gus in distaste. “Is this a fucking joke?”

 

                “No, it is not. I am quite serious. You will do this now.”

 

                Pinkman gaped at him. “Yo, it ain’t even Friday. We have a _deal._ ”

 

                Gus bristled at the reminder. “I know the deal we made. This has nothing to do with it. You are here for an interview to gain employment with my company. Do you want the job or not?”

 

                The boy’s laugh was low and mocking. “Fuck this,” he said as he turned to march off. Gus grabbed him by the elbow.

 

                “I am offering you a cloak of credibility. One in which people can show you respect, Jesse. This is a measure of how you will succeed in your future. Do not allow your emotions to cloud your better judgment. Do what is in your best interest.”

 

                “What the hell does that even mean?” he asked, his voice rising.

 

                Gus pulled him closer, curled a hand around the top of the young man’s waistband, bunching up the belt as the backs of his fingers pressed hard to Pinkman’s stomach. “It means do as I say. Get undressed. Now.” Suddenly, he wanted the boy terribly, needed to see him in the way that he’d been gracing Gus’s monitor for the last few nights.

 

                Pinkman stepped back, took a last glance at the door before hissing his disgust, pulling the shirt’s tails from his pants. “ _Asshole,_ ” he muttered as he dropped his jacket off of his arms then started unloosening the tie at his neck. Pinkman ripped the tie free and was about to drop it to the ground but Gus took it from him and slung it over the back of his chair with the jacket. When Pinkman had unbuttoned the shirt and went to pull the sleeves from his wrists, Gus finished for him, folding and then draping it next to the tie. Pinkman stopped to watch briefly, but then kicked off his dress shoes as he unbuckled the pants with a knowing sneer. Once they were off, Gus took them from Pinkman as well, repeating the process. The young man’s anger was in every stilted movement, his gaze burning through Gus, but he crossed his hands silently and held them in front of his crotch, the underpants he wore more suited to Gus’s tastes.

 

                “I said all of it. Everything. Then you will seat yourself on the desk.”

 

                “You’re seriously going to fuck me in your office? With all of your employees and customers just right outside that door? Have you, like, _totally_ lost your mind?”

 

                Gus shrugged. “I have everything under control. Do not question me in my place of business. I can see things very clearly, Jesse. This interview is about you. Now,” he tugged at the brief’s waistband. “Take this off. No more discussion.”

 

                Jesse bent down to pull off his socks and flung them at the chair in front of Gus’s desk. He bent again, dragging his pants down to his feet with the motion. He slipped them off and held them out to Gus. “Here! You creepy son-of-a-bitch.”

 

                Gus glared back, grabbing the briefs in his fist. “Get on the desk.”

 

                Pinkman scanned the top of it, littered with papers and open folders. He flopped a hand towards it. “Uh, it’s kinda messy,” he said with an indignant tone.

 

                “It does not matter. Sit down.”

 

                The boy backed up to Gus’s desk with a sigh and grabbed the edges, hoisting himself to the center of it so that his legs hung down from the knees. “You are a complete weirdo, you know that? Better hope that poor, little Juanita out there won’t need to look through your files.”

 

                Gus took hold of Pinkman’s legs just under the knee, pulling them up to plant his feet on the flat surface. “Come down a bit closer. Like this,” he said, spreading the legs wider as he curved hands around the boy’s ass and made him scoot down. When Pinkman was in place, Gus pushed the knees out a little further before he sat down.

 

                He leaned against the chair’s back until it tilted slightly, clasping his hands together while steepling his index fingers. “You may begin.”

 

                Pinkman’s jaw clamped tightly, his eyes like flaming darts. “Begin _what,_ exactly? I’m supposed to spank my monkey for your entertainment and pretend I’m not sitting in a fucking chicken restaurant with a crowd of people out in the dining area? What do I look like?”

 

                “I’m not interested in what you need to pretend in order to take action. I want you to prepare yourself for me. This is what I want to see. I would think you would be used to this by now.” Gus was almost desperate for the boy to begin, but he remained unnaturally still as he met Pinkman’s eye.

 

                “What’s that mean? What are you trying to say?” he said accusingly. Gus simply waved out a hand, an invitation for the boy to start.

 

                “Like, could you at least give me hand sanitizer or something?”

 

                Gus leaned forward, the leather of the chair creaking again as it moved with him. He opened up a bottom drawer and extracted a long tube of expensive scented lotion. He liked to coat his skin with it after a shift of waiting on customers and washing his hands every ten minutes. He threw the tube at Pinkman and the boy caught it at his chest. Without preamble, he flipped the top and squirted a dollop into his palm, throwing the lotion to the floor and coating the limp cock between his legs. "Fucking ... un ... believable," he muttered. The boy closed his eyes, took a long, relaxing breath, and started to stroke himself, instantly adopting an easy rhythm. He leaned his weight on the hand pressed to the desktop behind him, letting his legs fall open enough that they bent into a deep vee, the heels of his feet sliding closer together. It went on as such for a few solid minutes, Gus able to see the boy’s cock getting stiffer and longer as it was manipulated with a familiar groove. Pinkman let his head drop back after a bit, eyes still shut, and Gus was drawn to the angular definition of the boy’s Adam apple again, his neck stretched in invitation like he was waiting for a vampire’s kiss. Gus had the inexplicable urge to sink his teeth into the boy.

 

                Instead, he snaked long fingers around Pinkman’s ankles, making him jump. He stared at Gus in alarm, the hand stilled between his legs.

 

                “Not just this. I said for you to prepare yourself for me.” Pinkman still gawked in confusion, but Gus slid bare feet towards the corners of the desk, so that he had a perfect view of what lay beneath the boy’s scrotum. He was infinitely invested in the remaining piercings still to be done – the boy would have to be shaved for that.

 

                “What do you mean? Like, prepare myself … like, what are you _talking_ about? I thought I was.” His naiveté was almost charming, but, of course, Gus had already seen that Pinkman knew exactly what he meant. He circled his grip around Pinkman’s wrist and pulled it to him, away from the boy’s erection. Gus wiped the hand off along skin and then captured two fingers in his mouth, immediately drawing spit around them to moisten them. Pinkman grunted, his body stiff, but then Gus was arcing the boy’s hand over a high knee and guiding it underneath until the wet fingers were bumping against his rear end. Pinkman’s face filled with fury, his bottom row of teeth jutted out, but his eyes instantly glistening with his distress.

 

                “ _Jesus,_ ” he hissed, before lying back on the desk. He pressed the heels of his palms over his eyes for a moment then exhaled a deep breath. Gus let a small smile grace his lips as Pinkman resumed stroking himself, eyes still closed, while another hand slipped under his ass to slide the fingers into its crease. “I could use a little more spit,” he said suddenly, almost shyly.

 

                Gus gripped the boy’s thighs, pushing them high so that Pinkman’s bottom was raised off the wood. He liked tasting the boy, liked the way he could enter him in whichever way he deemed in the moment. Tongue, fingers, cock – Gus wished he had more appendages with which to penetrate the boy. And there were still so many things at home that he hadn’t even used on him yet. Pinkman’s body was a vessel made for filling: not just physically but mentally. He would change this young man, begin it with his tongue, crawling inside of him to seek out any vulnerability, any tenderness. Those pieces would belong to Gus only.

 

                Pinkman grunted again, his movements on his cock speeding up a bit. One finger pushed into the dot amidst a starburst of skin, another soon following it. There was an accustomed ease with which the boy started to pump the digits into his ass as the glide of his palm over his cock established an urgent pace. Gus put a hand over the motion to slow it down, wanting him to last.

 

                “ _What_?” the boy gasped.

 

                “Take your time. We are fine here. No one will disturb us.”

 

                Pinkman let out another gust of breath, attempted to get back into a rhythm. Soon there was a moan, although Pinkman tried to stifle the next one. Gus opened the drawer on his right, flitted over the collection of office supplies feeling for what he needed. When he touched the thick rubber band, he pulled it from the drawer and stood up.

 

                “In order to keep the noise down, you will take this,” he told the boy as he grabbed the pile of soft cotton on his desk that represented briefs. He leaned over Pinkman’s torso and pinched his chin, pulling it down to stuff the underwear into the waiting mouth. Pinkman’s eyes grew big, he tried to push himself away, but Gus pressed a hand to his chest with all of his weight to keep the boy in place. He shoved the underpants all the way in until only a tiny tuft poked out from between pursed lips. Gus opened another drawer, took the handle of a packing tape dispenser and scrolled off a sizable length. He covered the boy’s mouth with the clear tape, the underwear underneath swirled and pressed against it, as if were smoke trapped behind glass. Pinkman voiced a muffled protest and Gus was satisfied that the sound wouldn’t carry.

 

                “Good. Now,” he snapped the rubber band, “we want to prolong this for a while.” He pulled at the boy’s tightened testicles, slipping the band around one edge and then curling it halfway into a figure eight, securing the rubber on the other side of the scrotal sac with another snap. The boy jolted, his fingers in stasis while still up his ass, and a whine escaped through the padding. Gus appreciated the symbol of infinity encasing the boy’s balls, making him feel the sprawl of time. He could keep this boy with him. Sustain him with orgasms for days. Gus grew more excited at the prospects, rustling the contents of his drawer as he sought the other items he needed. The box was in the corner and Gus scraped the lid open, pulling two clips free.

 

                “You can handle this. It will heighten what you feel. You will have to get used to the pain first.” Gus put his hands over Pinkman's, insinuating that they were meant to continue what they were doing.

 

                The boy watched the descent of the clips to his chest with even wider eyes. Gus had enjoyed that detail from Pinkman’s sessions. It meant he was changing. He opened the first one and clipped it to a barred nipple. Pinkman squeezed his eyes shut and angled his head, a pained expression across his face. The moan was louder but still muffled.

 

                When Gus finished with the other one, he sat back down and rolled his chair closer, bringing the boy’s bottom right on the edge. He picked up Pinkman’s legs and draped them over his shoulders. “Keep going. Let me see how you wish to be done. Show me with these fingers how you want me to take you.”

 

                Pinkman still had his head turned away, features molded into distress. But the fingers pumped faster, rougher, the other hand starting to fly over the erection, the skin reddened and purpled with veins. Gus raised his own hand and turned it so that it rest against the boy’s strangled scrotum, fingers pressing to the widened hole that was diligently being punished. He lined the finger up with Pinkman’s and entered it with the other two. The boy froze. But the momentum from Gus’s entry carried them along, like they were being sucked into a vortex. He began to fuck him with a devilish pace, until the boy was trying to get away, had stopped jerking himself off. Gus released him, stood up quickly to unbuckle his pants. He couldn’t wait any longer. His need sung sweetly through him and into his cock, and when he plunged into the boy, he let out his own groan, one too loud and too desperate. Gus hooked Pinkman’s feet around his neck, making the boy stretch his legs, and immediately he was pounding into him, feeling a rush of power, the conquest no longer enough. He would soon hear Pinkman beg for it.

 

                It went on for a while, just the sound of the jostled desk and the papers underneath Pinkman swishing over each other as the boy’s body was thrust to and fro. Gus had to stop to catch his breath, the heaving in his chest almost painful, but then he slid hands under the boy’s back, curled fingers over his shoulders and held on, pulling the boy towards him. He lifted him for a moment, taking a shaky step backwards until he fell into the chair, bringing Pinkman with him. They both gasped, a deep groan emitted from the wedge in Pinkman’s mouth right after. Gus brought the boy’s feet up high again, made him hook his heels back on his shoulders. He spanned fingers around Pinkman’s neck and pushed him down to lay against the desk’s edge, so that half of his weight could rest there. Then he started to fuck him again, dragging Pinkman’s body towards him in quick thrusts. He wanted to hurt him, wanted to see what the boy would do in defense.

 

                When he had to pause to catch his breath, he stood up again and slid out of Pinkman, made him turn over so that his chest and stomach was flat on the desk. Gus took Pinkman’s tie from the back of the seat, trying to keep his pants from sliding all the way down as he twisted back. Pulling the boy’s arms behind him, Gus bent them upright, with elbows pressed together and hands just under the nape of his neck. He knotted the tie at the boy’s wrists, yoked it around Pinkman’s neck and then ran it back to the snared hands. There was another whine but Gus ignored it, pulling Pinkman’s legs wider apart and then gripping those hips until it felt like his fingers might puncture the flesh there, might grind them into bone. The fucking became more reckless as all of the anticipation from the last few nights flared into Gus’s spine, egging him on. Gus had the sudden thought that this had not been a good plan, to bring him here now. He didn’t want the boy to leave the office. He wanted to play with this body, wanted to create something new. He pummeled him harder until the sound of the boy’s hips slamming the desk was suddenly outdone by the desk’s feet scraping on the floor. Gus stopped instantly, holding the two of them together closely, their hoarse breaths carrying through the room. Pinkman started to cough in his throat, and soon it became choking, the tie at the boy’s neck looking too taut as it strained at both ends. Elbows were raised to lessen the tension, Gus quickly pulling the knot free and releasing the boy. Pinkman laid his head to the desk with a drop, arms still pinned under Gus’s weight as he leaned over the boy to rip the tape free. Pinkman choked again, a high sputter in his larynx. The briefs were extracted and left on the table, a damp ball. Pinkman coughed harder once the obstruction was removed, spittle spraying from his mouth and across the papers crumpled underneath him.

 

                But Gus simply straightened the boy up, turned him again so that he could embrace him, pull legs around his waist. He was desperate to climax, but he needed something from Pinkman first.

 

                “Kiss me,” he demanded, angling Pinkman’s ass so he could enter him once more.

 

                “Fuck off,” Pinkman croaked.

 

                Gus grabbed Pinkman’s head to hold him still, pressed his lips to the ones protesting in grunts. Pinkman pushed Gus’s head away, trying to keep him at arm’s length, but Gus slapped at him, grabbed the boy by the neck. “ _Yes_ ,” he hissed, finally getting his mouth to cover the other man’s. He kissed him hard, their mouths a fusion of skin, wanting to bite these lips till they were torn apart, wanting his tongue to slide down the boy’s throat, down his esophagus, into his stomach, through his intestines.

 

                “ _Gerrr –offf!!_ ” Pinkman cried. Gus pushed the boy down again, pressed a hand over his mouth, and then drove into him with a _blitzkrieg_ of desire.

 

                When his orgasm hit, he was momentarily gone from his surroundings, saw himself in the Tower, watching the man in front of him scream out names that meant little to him. But the fact that it was he who had procured those names had meant everything. The room faded, until familiar walls glimmered again, the boy struggling under him, legs kicking and hands gripping Gus’s as he wrenched fingers from around his neck. Gus released him, the room teetering a second while his panting overtook him, the blood pounding in his brain.

 

                “What the fuck … _what are you trying to do_?” Pinkman asked in horror.

 

                Gus calmed himself. Bent his head and drew in smaller, deeper breaths, thinking of his morning poses as he reclaimed his sense of composure. He slid out of the boy, but held Pinkman’s legs up, bent them all the way back until they were pressed to the boy’s chest.

 

                “Stay like this,” Gus commanded and the boy folded hands across them, keeping them in place. Gus pulled up his pants, tucked his shirt back in and buckled his belt. He ran a hand over his hair, then down the length of his tie. He checked the front of his shirt for wrinkles or anything incriminatory. When he felt he was himself again, he opened the bottom drawer and yanked out the small bag he’d brought with him that morning. He opened the pouch inside and took out its stopper. “Don’t move, I said,” he told the boy, even though Pinkman lay passively, eyes still widened in dismay. Gus showed him the anal plug first before directing it to its womb. “This shall stay in until I tell you differently, do you understand?” The boy’s features darkened.

 

                “Um, what? I – I have to drive home,” he said as if it were all the explanation needed to negate the request.

 

                “You can manage. It will feel fine after a bit. But it stays.” He gazed deeply into Pinkman’s widened eyes. “Until I say so.” He smiled suddenly at the boy, feeling magnanimous in the gesture. “In many of the Andean tribes, it is believed that a man’s semen holds magical powers. That one man’s ejaculate being held inside of another enabled a transference of that power, stemming from a man's very essence.” He finished putting the thing inside of the boy, blocking any escape of fluid, the sphere of bright purple from the base appearing as a signatory stamp Gus had sealed unto him, like wax on the back of a letter. “If you remove it prematurely, I will know,” he added threateningly, a ghost of an admission to the surveillance. “I would not suggest you test me.”

 

                He stepped back, scanned the rest of the boy’s body, noticing that the erection had flagged, that Pinkman still hadn’t had his release. “All of it stays. Even these,” he said, pointing to the clips. He leaned over to bend the wings so that they snapped against skin, making Pinkman flinch. He started to collect Pinkman’s clothes. “Now, let’s get you dressed. I have some forms for you to sign. We’ve filled out most of your background, but double check the information to see if we can embellish anything further.”

 

                Pinkman sat up slowly, more distressed than before, his teeth clamped so hard that his jawbone was clearly defined. Gus stared at the boy’s jawline with a hunger still squirming inside of him. But Friday was only a few days away. Pinkman stared at the wet clump of his briefs in misery. Gus picked them up, shook them out and then opened the waistband at the boy’s feet, waiting for him to step inside the leg holes. Pinkman followed his lead, still moving slowly. Gus assisted in getting him dressed, appreciating the way Pinkman looked in a suit once more after he’d knotted the boy’s tie.

 

                “Very good,” he said for them both. “Now, please – sit in the other chair and let us get these forms signed.”

 

                Pinkman walked in stilted steps to the other chair across from Gus’s desk, picked up his socks still strung over it. He sat down gingerly, wet lashes fanned under closed eyelids. Gus sat across from him.

 

                “Congratulations, Mr. Pinkman. I would say you are hired.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, a note - if you attempted to ask me something anonymously at my tumblr and it wouldn't let you, I fixed it. D'oh.
> 
> This chapter (and some of the next) is for Denise, to show my appreciation for the idea you threw my way. That whole voyeur thing is a favorite of mine, anyway, but I thought it made sense that Gus would have surveillance on both Walt and Jesse. Why this didn't happen in the show was a bit of a hole, I think. We knew Gus to be incredibly sharp and two steps ahead of everyone - fan speculation at the time was that all of Jesse and Walt's conversations were being taped. 
> 
> Gus quoted some Pablo Neruda, there.
> 
> Solfi - thanks again for your enthusiasm! I am really excited to see what you think of what's planned for future chapters, in regards to Gus and Jesse's weekends. That gym will come in handy. And I thank you for your comments on the other characters, particularly the ones we know little about.
> 
> nemesia - glad you loved it! And thanks for your help!
> 
> serafinafour - I love how you brought it back to the mirrors and watching. Yes, definitely a theme. And yup - the title was referring to our guest star, lol.
> 
> tifa2011 - thanks for the notes! I loved the tension in Breaking Bad - it was so addicting. So, yes, I do like to keep the tension high. And thank you for your kudos on 'Bunnies'.
> 
> Sega Barrett - oh, gosh. Your comment about Jesse and Andrea (I have a soft spot for them) - get ready for some adorable-ness overload, lol. I hope you really enjoy the next chapter, since it's her pov.


	21. The Set

 

“ _Like you got no responsibilities so it’s okay for you to get high. What do you know about me? I take care of my baby. I’ll do anything for him!”_

 

                “Mami, when is Jesse coming by again?”

 

                “I don’t know, baby. He’ll call when he’s not busy. He’s probably working.”

 

                “What does Jesse do at work? He told me he makes stuff. He called it pro – pro _duction_. What does that mean?”

 

                “It means he makes stuff, honey.”

 

                “But what kind of stuff?” Brock looked up from his homework on the coffee table where he knelt before it, Sponge Bob and Patrick laughing in the background of the tv in gaudy flashes of blues and pinks. Music played softly from her old iPod, hooked up to a small speaker sitting on the desk behind her.

 

                “I don’t know, hon. I don’t think it’s anything you can buy in the store.” She frowned. It surprised her that Jesse had revealed that much to Brock. She knew next to nothing about what he did, but then, she never asked.

 

                “Jesse said that he would buy me the new _Grand Theft Auto,_ but that I had to ask you first, to make sure it was okay. Mami, please? Pedro got it already and he says its super cool.”

 

                “Absolutely not. It’s too grown-up for you.” She bit at her pen as she came to the latter half of the application, pondering the empty lines following the questions. Federal aid. That made things tricky. But she was nervous to ask Jesse for the money. The temp job she'd had at Beneke’s had come to an end the week before. Apparently, the owner was not only in trouble with the IRS and had cut back most of the staff, but then he'd ended up in the hospital with a broken neck.

 

                “But, Momma! Jesse said –”

 

                “ _Oye_ , I said no! Jesse shouldn’t have promised, but like he said, it’s up to me and I say you’re too young for that game. Now, finish up your homework and stop asking questions. I’m going to get dinner ready.” She left the application and the book it rested on at the end of the table and made her way to the kitchen. Andrea opened the refrigerator and gazed at its contents hoping for something appetizing to appear. There was some leftover _paella_ but she wasn’t in the mood. She really wasn’t in the mood for cooking, either. She sighed, feeling the weight of being an adult pressed into her bones. She wanted to do something fun every once in a while. Missed hanging out with her friends.

 

                Andrea leaned into the cold air of the fridge to move some jars around, searching the back corners for anything interesting, something different. There was a jarring knock at the door and Andrea straightened up with a start. She had a flash image of the man who had come the other day, the one that Jesse didn’t trust, and felt an instant unease. Tiptoeing through the dining room and around the archway, she picked up her phone off the side table, glancing over its face. Jesse had left her a message.

 

                The knock came again and Andrea opened the door, saw Jesse on the stoop with his hands tucked in his pockets, bouncing on his heels. A big, bulky shopping bag was tucked in the crevice of his arm and side.

 

                “Jesse! I started to think you weren’t coming by. Why didn’t you text me?” She glanced again at the phone in her hand. “Oh, wait, you called. Sorry, we’ve just been in the living room doing our work. I didn’t hear the phone.”

 

                “Nah, it’s okay. If – if you’re busy, I can go. I didn’t think –”

 

                “No! Of course not. Babe, come in. Brock was just asking when you’d be coming over.”

 

                She moved aside to allow him entry but paused once she noticed his face. Jesse had that wide-eyed bombed out look again, like he’d just seen something awful. His eyes were red, his body full of signature ticks as he rocked on his feet.

 

                “Hey, uh … you think you can come out here a sec? I – I just needed to … I don’t want Brock to hear this.”

 

                “Sure, babe.” Andrea turned towards the back room. “Brock? I’m just outside, okay?”

 

                “Okay,” she heard faintly.

 

                She stepped outside and closed the door, Jesse moving back off the porch step and onto the grass. His face looked ashen, dark smudges were under his eyes, and Andrea was instantly worried.

 

                “Jesse, what is it? Are you okay? You seem upset.”

 

                He stared up at the sky and she noticed a reddish streak at his throat above the yoke of his tee shirt, like something had rubbed the skin too hard. “Look, I – I wanna be honest with you, okay? No … no secrets.”

 

                Something cold crept up the back of her neck. “Okay,” she said. “That’s … I think that’s good.”

 

                “Um,” he started, before pulling the bag from under his arm, holding its bulk out to her. “Oh, here. I got this for Brock.” She took the bag with both hands, its shape indicating a thin box under the plastic. “It’s a laptop. I thought he could use it for school.”

 

                “Oh. Thanks,” she replied, feeling a little confused. Her laptop was slower than molasses and on its way out. She’d need to get a new one, too. “He’s only in elementary school, though.”

 

                “Yeah, but … I figured he’d need it soon. He can play games on there and stuff.”

 

                “So … fine. But this isn’t what you wanted to talk about it, is it?”

 

                Jesse’s gaze was directed at the ground now, hands still fisted into his pockets. She liked that he’d given up the hoodies for his leather jacket, but when he was bothered like this, he still looked so young. “I’m, uh … I told you I was having – you know, bad days. And today, it’s just been –” He glanced up at her sharply, distress etched into every feature. “I really _… really_ want to get high right now. I mean, it’s all I can think about.” He shrugged, turning his face away from her, his eyes watering under the last bright rays of the sun. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

 

                “Jesse … do you want me to drive you to the church? They’ll have a meeting tonight, it’s in another hour. We can drop Brock off and I’ll go with you.” It had been several weeks since she’d been herself. She took Jesse by the shoulders, put a hand to the back of his head and made him look her in the face. “Baby, it’s okay. I’m here with you. We’ll get through this.”

 

                “I – can’t go there, I told you. I just – I can’t be alone. I’m sorry. I know this is fucked up and I shouldn’t be around Brock like this. I can leave if you want me to.” He cast his gaze to his feet again and Andrea’s heart squeezed at the sight of him, tears caught in his eyelashes like morning dew on a spider’s web. She saw his shoulders were shaking and Andrea suddenly swept him up into a hug, feeling something massive well up into her chest.

 

                “No, you should stay. Stay with us, Jesse. I’ll help you. We can talk this through.” She pushed him back, trying to glean anything that could give her an answer as she stared into shining blue eyes. “Did something happen?”

 

                For a fleeting second, his expression turned terrified, a sickness seeping from the shades of his face, but then it was smoothed into blankness. “No,” he insisted with a shake of his head. “Nah, it’s just … been a rough week.” He squeezed his eyes shut and she saw his jaw clamp tightly. “Look, we don’t need to talk about it. I just wanted you to know what was up. I know I’ve been acting weird. If I could just …” His eyes opened and locked on hers. “If I could stay here … tonight – that … that would be _so,_ like, really ...” He let the sentence hang in the air, his gaze moving to her lips.

 

                “Of course, baby. Whatever you need, okay? You just need to lean on me. Everything’s going to be alright.” She hugged him again, and Jesse pinned her to him so tightly she could hardly breathe, her ribcage feeling crushed. Finally, she kissed him on his neck, rubbed softly at his back in an attempt to get him to release her.

 

Andrea brought him into the house, her fingers entwined with his where they held hands. Exhaustion limned his back, stooping him like an old man, but although he remained forlorn, he gave her a small, appreciative smile and Andrea smiled back. She left the laptop still in its bag on the living room sofa.

 

                “Hey, Brock, look who’s here,” she called to her son, pulling Jesse into the back room where her ratty, second hand couch sat across from the flatscreen. There was the desk against one wall with a bookcase next to it, but there wasn’t a whole lot of furniture in the room or the rest of the house. The nicer sofa from her grandmother had been put in the front sitting room, consistently serving as a reminder that the house didn’t quite fit her. She had no idea what to fill it with.

 

                “Jesse!” Brock would never cease to fully engage in his excitement whenever Jesse came by. It both warmed Andrea and made her increasingly nervous. He jumped up from the floor and ran to give Jesse an exuberant fist bump.

 

                “S’up, Brock?” Jesse grinned at her boy and met Brock’s fist with his own but wouldn’t let go of her hand, still gripping it as if it were a lifeline.

 

                “Jesse, I was watching Discovery Channel ‘cause it was Shark Week, and they had this – this _giant_ dinosaur shark, and it was called Megalodon, and they think it could have eaten a whale, and they showed – like with CGI, they showed how big it would have been and it was like a _bus_ and it was going like,” and Brock paused in his story to demonstrate the shark’s ferocity by snapping his mouth at the air, “And they think there might be one still around, like the Locknuss – lock, you now, the big monster in the lake. It was really _cool_. I saved it if you want to watch it with me.” Brock was holding on to Jesse’s other hand, guiding them all to the sofa. “Mami says I have to finish my homework first, though. Can you help me? I have to put down all of the states in a map and then I’ll be done.”

 

                Andrea grinned at Jesse, squeezing his fingers. “I’m telling you, he hasn’t said this much in one sitting since the last time you were here. The kid barely says _boo_ to me unless he’s asking about you. What’s your secret, huh?” She bumped his shoulder with her own and he gave her another dimmed smile, shy and tinged with sadness. Andrea felt her insides twist, wanted to bundle him up the stairs to her room, wanted to cover him with her body and pull all of the sadness out like an extraction of salt from the ocean. She sat down and tugged at his wrist, making him drop next to her. Immediately, Brock crawled up onto the other side of Jesse, stretching his legs out as he pressed himself close.

 

                “Jesse, can you name the capitals of all the states? I thought Albuquerque was the capital, but our teacher told us it was Santa Fe.”

 

                “Yeah, I’ve heard that,” Jesse replied, his eyes widening with that dazed look again. “I don’t know if I remember them all. We might have to look up a few on Google.”

 

                “Brock, Jesse isn’t going to do your homework for you. Let’s calm down, okay? He just got here, hon, you don’t have to ask him a thousand questions in the first two minutes. Let the man have some air.”

 

                Brock grew quiet and thoughtful. “Sorry,” he breathed.

 

                “Nah, it’s okay.” Jesse glanced at her, his features lightened. “It’s cool. I’m okay. He can ask me whatever he wants.” He slipped an arm around her shoulder, and slapped a hand on Brock’s leg. “This is good. This is great, okay?”

 

                “I was just trying to think up something for dinner. You got any ideas?” She wished they could go out to a restaurant, but there was a fear of letting Jesse leave her house, as though his dark struggles would spring free from his chest like a tiny alien the moment they ended up outside and Jesse would disappear from them in a puff of air. She needed to keep him safe, with her.

 

                “How about pizza? I could totally go for some pepperoni. You know, we can get some dipping sticks, too, and … I think they might have, like, a salad or something, if you want, you know, something healthy. My treat,” he smiled.

 

                “No, pizza sounds perfect,” she agreed. “But I want some Canadian bacon and pineapple on half.” She got up to grab her phone, but Jesse wouldn’t let go of her, and she dropped back down to the sofa.

 

                “I got it, babe. You can have whatever you want.” He looked down into Brock’s hopeful face. The widened gap in Brock’s mouth from his missing front teeth gave him the grin of a battered hockey player. “How about you? What’s your request? Hey, maybe let’s leave the anchovies off this time. I was burping them up for two days after the last pie.” Jesse dug his phone out of his pocket to flip up the receiver, already hitting some buttons with a savvy thumb.

 

                “I want extra cheese!” Brock enthused. “I like pepperoni, too. That’s my favorite.”

 

                “Alright, mine, too. Good taste in pizza toppings, that’s what I like in a man,” Jesse said with a wink. “But here’s the deal. You gotta finish your homework before it gets here, okay? So how about you do your state thing, while I order, and your mom is going to take me into the kitchen so I can get washed up. That cool?”

 

                “It’s cool,” Brock said with an endorsing grin. Andrea gestured towards the coffee table to get her son’s attention back on his work. She pulled Jesse up with her this time, just as he began talking to someone on the phone, and as she walked them back through the dining room and towards the kitchen he trudged behind her while rattling off their order.

 

                “Yeah, don’t forget the dipping sticks. Sure, you got it. No, not that address; the one on Forrester. Awesome, thirty minutes is good. Yeah, we’ll see you then.” He hung up the phone and curled an arm around Andrea’s waist. “Dinner will be here, soon.”

 

He kissed her, sliding his other arm up her back and twining his fingers into her hair. Andrea held him close, walked in step with him as he guided her backwards to the counter, their mouths and tongues still seeking comfort in the other. He slid his lips to her cheek and kissed her there, pressed them to her neck and sighed. “I just need to be here. Right here,” he murmured by her ear. She squeezed him tighter and Jesse suddenly lifted her, sat her on the slick Formica of the counter. Pressing his head to her middle, he encircled both of his arms around her, his face between her breasts, and Andrea raked her hands through his hair. It was growing back out, finally, and this detail made her happy, made her believe that Jesse was coming out of his darkness, even if he was sweating his addiction currently. He needed her. She could feel that need pour out of him and through her as sure as if she had turned to sponge, absorbing him into her very pores. And being needed by Jesse made Andrea’s heart beat faster, swelled her throat so that the air seemed to barely squeeze through.

 

                “Baby, relax, okay? You’re making me want to take you upstairs,” she whispered suggestively, pressing her mouth to the soft shell of his ear.

 

                He stilled. Let go of her and took a step away. “Uh … listen. I … I need you to do something for me. I mean, something else.” Jesse rubbed a finger across the top of her thigh, not meeting her gaze. “I’m so sorry about this, but … I need you to hold something for me. No, just … I need you to get rid of it for me. Otherwise –” he sighed deeply. “Otherwise, I’ll just end up smoking it.”

 

                Andrea felt another chill trickle across her flesh. “Smoke it? What are you talking about, Jesse? You didn’t … tell me you didn’t … buy some blue.” She was afraid to see it, was afraid to see what her reaction might be to Jesse slipping a teenth into a shaking, sweaty palm.

 

                “Nah, it’s not that. I – I just,” and he looked behind him to where the ambient sounds of the television mumbled under a plinking piano. He pulled something from a deep pocket, dropped the plastic baggie in her lap, the aroma hitting her nostrils right away. “It’s just weed,” he whispered. “I only got an eighth. Thought it would … calm me down, I guess. But I know it’s a stupid move. It’s just an excuse.” His voice was rough and condemning. “I smoke this … I smoke this and I’m gonna be looking for something … _more._ ” Jesse looked into her face, his eyes imploring. “Can you just … _please_ – can you just get rid of this for me? I’m – I’m just not strong enough, right now.”

 

                She stared at the bag of brackish green buds, a craving suddenly overtaking her. Andrea summoned her little boy’s face as a talisman, saw him smiling at her with his gap-toothed grin. She pushed at Jesse, dropped herself to the ground, her fist squeezing the pulp in her hand, and marched to the stairs, running up swiftly as if she was being chased, bursting through the bathroom door with a frenzied heartbeat. The toilet sat innocently, inanimate and cold, and Andrea ripped up the lid so that it smacked into porcelain, tipped the bag in her hand and let the contents spill out into the bowl. She turned the baggie inside out to make sure it was completely empty, not one dreg or stem remaining. Then she flushed it all down with the squelch of the handle. The whirling sounds of the water taking it away reassured her and she dropped to the floor in a great exhale of breath, that small surge of determination quickly draining out of her.

 

                When Andrea made it down to the foot of the stairs, Jesse was waiting for her, awash in relief. He grabbed her hand. “Thank you,” he murmured before enveloping her in another hug. They stayed like that, the television now squawking a commercial with loud, commanding voices. Andrea clung to him, hoping he wouldn’t ever ask that of her again.

 

* * *

**“** Brock, move your books upstairs and wash up before you come down, okay? We need some room.” She pushed her own clutter to the farthest edge of the table, handing Brock his Xeroxed papers now filled in with answers, as she made a space for the pizza box. Jesse set down the stack of plates and napkins next to it.

 

                “What’s this?” he asked, sliding out the application she had tucked in her book and scanning it. She went to grab it out of his hand but he held it away from her. “What? You’re applying for school?” His eyes widened in surprise.

 

                “Um, it’s nothing. I was just … thinking about it. It’s just the community college. Thought I might pick up some classes a few days out of the week, while Brock is in school. The part-time job I got through the temp agency finished, so …” She felt awkward suddenly, embarrassed at the way Jesse was looking at her with such wide-eyed wonder, like he couldn’t imagine her in such a setting.

 

                “Yo, that’s – that’s awesome.” He smiled at her, and it wasn’t the sad, wan smiles he’d been giving her since he’d arrived, but his mouth spread wide, eyes crinkling from the effort. “Wow. What – what are you planning on studying?”

 

                Andrea sat down next to him, feeling less anxious. “Um … well, I was thinking I’d take some business classes. You know, to start. I think … I mean, I had this idea …” She paused, looking at his expression grow more delighted. “What?”

 

                “Babe, that’s _great._ I could totally see you as a business owner. You’re so smart. And, you know, I – I could help you. Get some scratch together to get you started. What’s your idea?”

 

                She stared down at her lap, feeling her face grow hot. “Oh, it’s just … Jesse you do enough for us. It’s okay. I just thought – it would be something for the family, you know?” Her shyness took over, making her afraid to give voice to her dream.

 

                “Like what? Tell me,” Jesse urged, a comforting hand folding over her knee.

 

                “I thought I could open a restaurant. I know, like every other Mexican in this country, right?” She felt flushed as she rolled her eyes. “But … my grandmother is a really great cook. She taught me everything about food. And … we have other family that could … I mean, it would be kind of old school meets new aesthetic, you know? Not just another taco place straight out of the barrio, something different. Real, authentic Mexican food, but in a really chic setting.” She felt herself blush again. “You’re looking at me like I’m crazy,” she laughed sheepishly. “I know it sounds silly, but just indulge me, okay? I figure that a business degree has to be good for something.”

 

                “I think – I think that’s fantastic,” Jesse said, his expression illuminating his sincerity. “Seriously. You should do that. I mean, school and everything. I can give you more for the week, whatever you need for tuition …”

 

                “Jesse, you can’t keep paying for everything. I’m a big girl. We’re not you’re responsibility.”

 

                His face fell, those eyes wide and shining. “I – I know. But … I want to. I want to be here for you both. You do so much for me. Honestly. I – I want to help, Andrea. You two deserve better. Better than me, for sure. But let me do this for you. _Please.”_

 

                Brock ran into the room. “Mami, can Jesse watch the Discovery Channel with me while we eat?” He jumped into the middle of the couch and squirmed around so that he sat between them. Andrea was grateful, not wanting to discuss school or money with Jesse any longer. All of the implications associated with it disturbed her, made her question what she was doing taking his money in the first place. Where was this relationship heading? To anything real?

 

                “Yeah, sure, Brock. If that’s what Jesse wants to do.” She got up quickly to tend to her iPod, looking for something to change the mood.

 

                “Hey, why don’t we just talk a bit while we eat, huh? Brock? What do you say? We can watch tv later.”

 

                Andrea turned back to watch them both, seeing her son copy Jesse as he grabbed a plate and slid a gooey slice onto it.

 

                “I think that’s a good idea,” she said, turning the television off. “Let’s listen to some music.” She turned the volume up on her player, a woman’s airy voice growing bolder as symphonic, electrical sounds swirled their notes in syncopated rhythms.

 

                “O-kay,” Jesse drawled. “But first you gotta tell me what the hell we’re listening to.”

 

                “You don’t like it? What, you’re not a fan of Stereolab?”

 

                Jesse gave a throaty laugh. “I don’t know what the hell that is. This chick sounds like she’s trying to sell me some insurance.”

 

                “What? You don’t know what you’re talking about. But fine, I’ll change it to something more your speed,” she teased, switching the track. “We’ll go really old school.” A thumping beat came through the speaker she had the player hooked up to.

 

                “Old school, yeah. You got some KRS-One or some Cypress Hill on there?”

 

                “White boy, please,” she said. “We need to expand your horizons.”

 

                “Mami, play the California song!” Brock shouted with a mouth full of pizza.

 

                “The California song?” Jesse echoed. “Wow, you’re not, like, into, like, seventies rock or something, are you?”

 

                “No, no. He’s talking about something else. Wait, Brock. Here we go.” She shuffled through her playlist to set up the song and a throb of a heavy bass suddenly drowned the room. “This is the kind of stuff my dad listened to all the time,” she explained to Jesse over the music. “He was a hardcore punker from LA,” she looked over her shoulder, “Among other things.” Andrea turned to her son and held out a hand. “Come on, Brock, let’s show Jesse how it’s done.”

 

                A whiny, snarling voice had filled their space, but then the tempo sped up and the lyrics were spit with venom and anger. Brock started to bounce around her, grabbing her hands.

 

 _California Über Alles!_  
 _California ÜberAlles_  
 _ÜberAlles California!_  
 _ÜberAlles California, whoa, ooohwhoa_ …

The music was a dizzying clash of guitars and keyboards and Andrea and Brock started to jump up and down, swinging and shaking their heads with abandonment. She glanced at Jesse on the couch, who was gaping at them with an amused grin. She held out her hand and he shook his head.

 

                “What are you even doing?” he laughed.

 

                “C’mon! Some slam dancing is always good to get out some frustration. Right, Brock!” She yelled on top of the music as her son started to pound his fists in the air with his bopping head, following her lead. It was a song she would play when her cravings would be at their worst, the aggressive dancing shaking all of her need loose like leaves from a tree. Having Brock with her during those moments only reinforced the determination that coursed through her.

 

                The chorus came around again and Andrea leaned down to grab Jesse by the wrist, dragging him upwards from the couch. Jesse had things he needed to shake loose, too, things that he had to let go of, and Andrea was equally determined to pave the way for him. She saw his vexation wrapped around him like a coat of nettles, an afterimage left behind every time he walked out of a room, like the dark shadows that had remained from the blast of a hydrogen bomb.

 

                He started to sway with her tepidly, still grinning at them like they were clowns. “Oh, come on. You gotta feel it. Just let go, baby. Punch it out!” She shouted again, jumping up and down on her feet as she punched at the air. “ _California! Uber alles!,”_ she sang along, while Brock whooped and hollered in joy. At last, Jesse gave in and joined them, starting to jump up and down with her, whipping his head back and forth. She stopped and pushed the table farther away to give them more room. Jesse and Brock were now whooping together, like an apache war cry, bouncing around the floor hard enough to make the furniture tremble. She slammed her body through the air with them, but the track ended too soon.

 

                “Mami, play it again!” Brock shouted, practically vibrating with leftover energy. She was about to queue it up again when the next rotation began and the twanging guitar stopped her in her tracks.

 

                “Oh, no, this one is good, too. Remember, Brock? You like this one,” she said, the song getting under way with girlish, ghostly _ooo_ ’s.

 

_And this I know_   
_His teeth as white as snow_   
_What a gas it was to see him_   
_Walk her every day_   
_Into a shady place_   
_With her lips she said_   
_She said_   
_Hey Paul, hey Paul, hey Paul, let's have a ball_

 

                Jesse swooped in and put his hands to her waist, started to move with her as she swayed her hips. She laced fingers around the back of his neck, pressed their bodies close. Brock came up to them and held on to their legs, tilting his head back to grin up at them.

 

_Gigantic! Gigantic! Gigantic! A big, big love!_

Andrea smiled so hard her face hurt, but she couldn’t stop. It felt good in this pocket of space, holding Jesse close, her son holding on to her. Andrea felt alight, like she was on wings, wanting this moment to last, wanting to let Jesse into her heart, but feeling him already there. She sang out the words, loudly and joyfully, and the way Jesse smiled back at her was like being seared by the sun.

 

_A big, big love! A big, big love! A big, big love!_

 

* * *

 

               

                “Jesse, _ja!_ Pay attention,” she insisted with a laugh, as he kissed her neck under her hair again.

 

                “Oooh, I love it when you scold me in Spanish,” he rumbled. “Say something else. Really tell me off.”

 

                She slapped him hard on his thigh. “I’m serious! If we’re doing this, we need to know exactly what we want. It’s like getting a tat, Jesse. You’ve got to be absolutely sure. They’re going to give you a hard time if we go in there and you’re still trying to make up your mind.”

 

                They lay across her bed, Jesse pressed at her back, while she scrolled over the screen on her laptop. “How about this? You would look really good with this design. Your cock was made for this one, hon.”

 

                That stopped Jesse abruptly, his nose gone from rooting under her locks and his chin resting on her shoulder to stare at the enlarged photo she’d clicked on. He was quiet for a moment. “Uh – are you serious? That’s like … that’s a lot.”

 

                “A Jacob’s ladder? It doesn’t have to be. That one’s a bit extreme, yeah, but we don’t want the rings. Just two or three of these would look really good with the barbells, babe.” She clicked on the inset. “Like this one.”

 

                “I thought you wanted me to get a Prince Albert. Changing your mind?” he asked, his hand sliding up to the underside of her breasts, a finger absently rubbing along the wired ridge of her bra.

 

                She craned her neck to look over her shoulder. “Jesse, you can get whatever you want. It’s your dick. I think a Prince Albert would be hot. But it’s up to you.”

 

                “Well … you’re letting me pick out what we’re going to do to you. It’s only fair that you get to have a say about mine, right? I mean, which, do you think, feels better?” He pointed to the photo with the long trail of hoops running down the shaft of the penis in the photo. “I can’t imagine all that feels fun on the other end.”

 

                “I wouldn’t say _fun_ ,” she replied, recalling Marco’s collection. “Intense. It’s pretty fantastic, actually. Especially if you’re high,” she added wistfully. Andrea looked back at Jesse, mouth agape from her tactless slip. “Sorry, babe, I didn’t mean to say that. I know you’re hurting.”

 

                Jesse was giving her a searching look of his own, scanning her face as if he didn’t know her. “You … you’re used to those kinds of piercings, then? Was it … an old boyfriend? Or just …”

 

                Andrea felt herself blush and turned back to the screen. “Um … yeah. He was … you know, kind of my …” She felt weird suddenly, not wanting old, acrid memories to break into the little sanctuary she had built with Jesse. “I guess you could say he was my dom. I mean, we were both into bondage stuff. He wore a lot of jewelry – for my pleasure, he said, but that was a load of horseshit. The guy liked the way it made him look. And let’s just say he wanted a lot of people to see them.” Not that she had cared by then. Marco screwing around had hurt at first, but it was him supplying her with more drugs and pushing her into scarier situations that had been the real problem. “Of course, by people, I mean women,” she finished, bitterness creeping into her tone.

 

                “Oh.” Jesse went quiet, prompting Andrea to glance behind her again. He was gazing at her hip, stroking it softly, his expression opaque.

 

                “Hey. It wasn’t a good relationship. I … I let him have too much control and he abused it. But I was young and stupid. I – I didn’t know what I wanted, and I let him make me think that he did.” She shrugged in ambivalence. “He wasn’t a good guy. I know better now.”

 

                Jesse stared at her hip even harder, his jaw working side to side as his features sharpened. “Yeah,” he said thickly.

 

                Andrea stroked a hand down the side of his face. “Babe. Look at me.” When he glanced up, she pulled him close and kissed him. “I’m glad you’re here,” she told him earnestly. She ached to tell him more, but her fear wouldn’t leave her. Jesse reached over to kiss her again. When they parted, Andrea twisted her body on the bed to fully face him.

 

                “So? You wanna do it this weekend, then? I can ask my grandmother tomorrow to watch Brock on Saturday night, if you want. We still need to pick out the place.”

 

                “Um … can I get back to you on that? I, uh, need to see what my plans are going to be.” He looked sheepish as he started to play with the bedspread, tufting it between his fingers. “I might … be on call for something,” he said with concentrated vagueness.

 

                “Okay. Will you know by afternoon? I just want to make sure my grandmother has a heads up.”

 

                He gave her a tight smile. “Sure, babe.” Jesse rubbed a hand across her belly. “Hey, I liked that song you played for us. Like, a lot. You should send it to me.”

 

                “Which one? The Dead Kennedys or the Pixies track?”

 

                “Not the spazzed out, punk one. The other song.” His smile lightened. “That was … it felt really good, dancing with you guys. I’m glad I came tonight, too. It was sweet how Brock was into it.”

 

                She grinned. “Yeah, well, it’s kind of funny how much he loves that one considering what the song is about, but I’m not going to explain it to him, of course.”

 

                “What do you mean?”

 

                “Well,” she laughed. “It’s a song about a big, black cock. But it’s a great tune.”

 

                Jesse’s smile faltered, started to droop. He looked a little sick again. “Oh,” he said, with a deep swallow. “Right.”

 

                “Jesse, you okay? Sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin your interpretation of it. I just thought it was funny.”

 

                “Naw, you’re totally right. Hilarious.”

 

                She leaned into him for more kissing, hoping to rid his mind of his troubles. She pushed at his chest until he was lying on his back. Andrea crawled on top of him, her mouth more urgent, hands sliding under Jesse’s shirt.

 

                “Hey,” he said, stopping her. “Uh, let’s … let’s keep it chill tonight, okay?” He eased himself up by propping himself on his elbows, forcing Andrea to sit up. “If that’s good with you?”

 

                “What do you mean?” She frowned at him. He looked like he was about to come up with another excuse for leaving.

 

                “I mean, like, let’s just _sleep_ together tonight, you know? Real sleeping. Not that I won’t take care of you,” he added in a hurry. “I’ll totally get you off, babe, it’s just … I’m … not … really up for, uh, penetration.”

 

                Andrea studied his face, noting his embarrassment but trying to detect the real issue. She knew that recovering from a drug like methamphetamine could play havoc with keeping a steady erection. She shrugged. “That’s okay.” She pressed her body to his. “We can cuddle, if you want. As long as you’re here when I wake up.”

 

                Jesse’s face lit up. “Okay. Thanks.” He attempted to sit up with her weight on him. “But … I got to look up some stuff, too. I need to, uh, do this research thing, if you don’t mind me stealing your laptop for a sec.”

 

                Andrea got up and sat in front of it with her legs crossed. “Sure, hon. Tell me what you’re looking for. We can research it together.” Her fingers were poised over the keyboard ready for him to begin.

 

                “Um …” He turned suddenly hesitant, his eyes darting between her and the computer. “It’s no big thing. Just a … a present I need to figure out.”

 

                “What kind of present?”

 

                He adopted that frightened deer in the headlights look again. “Uh.” Jesse shook his head as though to cast off his reluctance then let out a deep breath. “For my boss. I was going to get him a bottle of wine, ‘cause he likes wines. But the guy is really particular. He’s, like, a wine snob, you know? So I’ve been trying to find the right one, something that he would really like … a _lot_.”

 

                She straightened her back, the conversation feeling serious. Jesse was talking about a boss – a boss of where he worked and a job that he did. She wondered how much he was going to share. And if she was ready to hear it.

 

                “Okay. Well, if he’s into wine, then I’d make sure you get him a red. A true enthusiast is going to know and cherish his reds.”

 

                Jesse’s eyes widened. “Yeah, that’s … what I was thinking, too. There’s also the, whaddyacallit, the tannins. Like, they’re going to have a sharper flavor, right?”

 

                “Well, it depends on the wine in question. I mean, not all reds are going to be full-bodied, and a red doesn’t necessarily mean higher tannins. Maybe a little juicy, or tart, but what do you know about your _boss’s_ tastes?”

 

                The eyes got even bigger. “Hardly anything. But … he’s from South America.” There was a long pause. “From Chile, actually. I read they make a lot of wines there.”

 

 

                “You could try a Carmenere,” she suggested. “Chile is known for their Carmenere grapes.”

 

                Jesse gawked at her for a moment before sounding an amused huff. “How do you know this stuff?” She hadn’t even touched the laptop’s keys.

 

                “Oh, what, just because I’m ghetto means I automatically don’t know anything about wine?” she teased, but Jesse was immediately contrite.

 

                “Shit, hon, I didn’t mean that, at all. You know that. I’m just … I think it’s cool, alls I’m saying. You know your shit. Your restaurant is going to kick ass,” he insisted with a raise of his eyebrows.

 

                He sat up and folded his legs like hers, started to rub her back softly, but Andrea wasn’t soothed. The moment grew tense as the mystery of Jesse’s employment strung between them. She wanted to ask questions but was afraid of the answers she’d get. She didn’t want anything to change.

 

                “So … this boss of yours. He’s, like, rich?”

 

                Jesse instantly dropped his gaze to the bed. “Uh, he’s pretty well off, I would say. I don’t know, not super rich. I mean, we don’t need to talk about him, I just need to find the perfect wine.”

 

                “But you’re obviously trying to impress this guy. Are you … being invited for dinner or something? When are you planning on presenting him with this wine bottle?”

 

                “ _No_ , I’m not going to dinner with the dude. It’s just a gift.”

 

                “And you’re going to give him this … at an office?”

 

                “Know what? Forget I said anything. I like the wine you said. I’ll pick some up. Don’t worry about it.” He gritted his teeth, looking irritated. “Let’s look at the clit pictures again, I’m getting tired of looking at jacked up dicks.” He leaned over her and hit the cursor over a link. “Hey, what’s up with this thing? Why does it take forever to load up the next image?”

 

                “Because it’s a piece of shit,” she snapped, affected by his mood shift. “It’s super slow ‘cause it’s on its way out. I got it cheap, like on a Black Friday sale or something.”

 

                “Oh, well then why didn’t you say something? Just take the new one. I’ll get another one for Brock the next time I’m at the store.”

 

                “Jesse! I don’t need you to buy me everything! You’re not my Sugar Daddy. I don’t even know where it –”

 

                She cut herself off before she could say any more about the money, or Jesse’s work. This wasn’t how she had wanted the evening to go. “Look, just don’t feel like you have to … to take care of us all the time.”

 

                He stared at her for a moment. “I don’t,” he said quietly. “Feel like I have to. I want to.” He resumed the backrub, running his hand horizontally at the base of her spine, curving it at her waist. Jesse scooted closer to her, propped his chin on her shoulder. “I want to make you feel good, baby.”

 

                And she wanted it, too. Andrea didn’t want to lie to herself any longer. She wanted Jesse to love her so that she could feel safe enough to love him back. She felt tears prick her eyes and she buried her head into Jesse’s neck, arms wrapped tightly around him. They rolled together on the bed, Jesse getting on top of her, fingers swiftly unhooking and unzipping her jeans in their zeal to get inside her panties as they kissed. Their mouths mashed together as she hooked her thumbs over her waistband and struggled to push her pants down for him. Jesse’s fingers eased inside of her while his tongue twined with hers, but it wasn’t enough. Andrea wanted to feel as close as she could to him, wanted him deep inside of her.

 

                “Mmm, babe. You know we’re not going to be able to have sex for a while after we do this,” she groaned to him as they writhed with each other, trying to change his mind.

 

                Jesse stilled. Held himself above her, his face quizzical. “Do what?”

 

                “The piercings. They’ll need some time to heal. So no sex for a bit. Something to think about,” she taunted in a breathy voice.

 

                But for a split second, Jesse looked hopeful. “Really? Like, how long?”

 

                “Well, it depends on what we get done. Maybe a week or two. Some piercings take almost six months to heal.”

 

                “ _Six months_?” he echoed, eyes widening. “For real?”

 

                “Yeah. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have sex for those six months. You just need to be careful. Not to tear anything or risk infection, that kind of thing.”

 

                Jesse suddenly smiled down at her in that sexy way of his, leaned down to press his lips to hers, languorously and sweetly. He pulled her shirt up until she had to lift her back and raise her arms for him peel it off. Her bra quickly followed, Jesse’s mouth already suckling a nipple as he tossed it to the floor. His head moved lower, to kiss down her stomach, but the next moment he was leaning on his heels, grappling with the hems of her jeans as he pulled the legs off. Andrea slid a finger under her lace panties to push them down, but Jesse stopped her, made her put her hands over her head. He leaned over her to reach for the nightstand’s drawer, a clatter arising as he searched for something. The leather bracelets were soon revealed, Jesse dragging up one arm at a time as he affixed the cuffs to each wrist. Andrea could feel her excitement gather low in her belly and in her pelvis, her nerves singing; knew she was getting wet at the prospect of Jesse restraining her.

 

                When he tied her to the headboard, he kept her wrists together. Andrea raised herself up to snap at Jesse’s t-shirt with her teeth as he leaned across her. She wanted to feel his skin sweating on hers. It was like they were caught in a cloud of electricity, the air alive around them, and she wanted to stay here, wanted to feel fused to his body and his mouth and his hands.

 

                Jesse peeled off her panties as he gazed down at her with a face full of want, and then spread her legs wide, arms outstretched. “You want me to fuck you, baby?” he asked in a low, throaty rumble.

 

                “Mmm, yes, Daddy,” she moaned.

 

                “You want this cock? You want it to fill you up, sugar?”

 

                “ _Yesssss,”_ she hissed. “I want it, Daddy.” Her moans hit a higher scale as he thrust his fingers inside of her.

 

                “If you’re good, baby,” he murmured. “But you got to keep quiet. I need you to be quiet.” His fingers pressed into her deep and Andrea threw her head back with her eyes closed, tried to quash the gasp in her throat as she thrust her tits in the air. Jesse was suddenly holding her chin and jaw, forcing her to open her mouth. Andrea felt the gauzy material touch her tongue and her eyes flew open.

 

                “Waaii –” but Jesse was stuffing her panties in her mouth unduly, and Andrea wrenched her head away. “Mmmmoo,” she urged, sounding like a cow lowing in pain. She shook her head hard, tossing it side to side as if she could shake the lingerie free. Andrea kicked out a foot and Jesse grabbed her ankle to stop her.

 

                “Babe, what is it? Something wrong?” he asked, slipping the lace out of her mouth with his brows furrowed deeply, his concern etched into his face.

 

                “Jesse, don’t do that, babe,” she admonished lightly. She coughed some spittle for her dry throat. “That’s not safe.”

 

                His face went blank. “What?” he asked, his voice sounding hollow and flat.

 

                “I know it seems sexy, hon, but it’s not a good idea. That’s why I have the ballgag, even though you think it’s cheesy. Underwear or any kind of loose material can slide back and get stuck in someone’s throat and they can asphyxiate. I’m just sayin’, babe, you need to be careful, especially when I’m tied up and can’t do anything if I’m suddenly choking. Sorry, I wasn’t trying to ruin the mood.”

 

                His reaction confused her. Jesse appeared ill, staring through her to the wood behind her. He reached across her again and quickly untied her from the rope hooked around the bed’s frame. Jesse slid back so that his body was away from hers, turned his back to her as he sucked in a breath. His shoulders were raised, his head hung between them. Andrea sat up, the leather manacles still on her wrists. “Babe?” His shoulders started to shake. “Jesse, are you alright?”

 

                There was a strangled sound from his end of the bed and Andrea crawled across it on hands and knees, she pressed her chest to his back. “Jesse? What happened?”

 

                When he faced her, he looked wretched, his skin sickly and pale in the warm glow of her bedroom lamp. “Did you get rid of it all?” he asked in desperation.

 

                “Get rid of what?” But she knew what he wanted.

 

                “The pot? Did you throw it all away?” He glanced up into her eyes, seeing the answer there. His eyelids squeezed shut. “Are you holding _anything_? I’ll take whatever you got. Whatever’s in the medicine cabinet. Tell me you got something.”

 

                She wrapped her arms tightly around his chest. Whispered in his ear. “You don’t need it, Jesse. I’m here, baby.” She felt bad that she hadn’t warned him about the gags. She was the one who had experience in the scene and she hadn’t really prepared him. It was unfair, that she expected Jesse to take care of all of her wants.

 

                “Shit,” he hissed in disgust. “I feel sick.” He straightened up and stared at the wall across from them. “I should go.”

 

                Andrea’s panic was instant. “No! Jesse don’t.” She knew the first place he would go. She pulled him back by the shoulders, laid him flat on the bed and then straddled his hips, throwing her body on his. “Stay with me. I’ll get you through this, honey. We can beat this. You’re so strong, Jesse. I know you can do this.”

 

                Jesse gripped her by her waist and pushed her off firmly. “I can’t breathe. I gotta get out of here.”

 

                “NO!” she cried again. She unhooked the leather at her wrist, held Jesse’s arm over his head and buckled it on. She started to undo the other one.

 

                “Andrea, what are you doing?”

 

                “I’m going to help you,” she stated. “I’m going to save you from yourself.” She slid the other cuff around his wrist and pushed it back with the other, moving to pull up his shirt. He let her slide it up and over his head, but she stopped midway along his arms, knotted the cotton by the ends so that his arms were locked snugly. She pushed at his hips until he moved up the bed. Andrea grabbed the rope still dangling and ran it through the eyelets of the bracelets, tugged tight enough that Jesse was pulled along until his head hit her pillows. His face was rigid with pain.

 

                “It’s not going to work,” he said through gritted teeth. But Andrea knotted the rope a second time, made sure he was bound to the spot.

 

                “It will work. You’re staying here tonight. We’ll ride this through. Together.”

 

                He laid there, his face tucked into the inside of his arm, eyes shut, and a deep groan escaped him. Andrea stroked down his chest and stomach. She reached over to stroke his face. Suddenly, Jesse burst into tears, an anguished hiccup caught in his throat. Andrea stretched her body along his, carding her fingers through the close crop of his hair, the feel of it lush and silky on her skin. “It’s okay, baby,” she soothed in hushed tones as he wept. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m with you.”

 

                “Don’t leave me,” Jesse cried, his notes of distress piercing her heart.

 

                “I won’t leave you, baby. Ever.”

 

                Andrea turned out the light. She finished undressing him and slid the sheets and comforter over them, molding herself to his every contour, every flat plane. Her body lowered up and down in harmony with his breaths once he’d turned calm. She took her time covering him with kisses, her mouth on him moving slow and patiently. When she felt him grow hard, she climbed on him, rode him until he cried out for her once more. Andrea curled around him after, Jesse’s arms still tied to the bed, her leg across the tops of his thighs and her head resting on his heart. She fell asleep to the sound of it beating under her ear.

 

* * *

 

                The alarm went off. Andrea twisted herself, slapped a hand on the snooze button quickly. She felt Jesse stir under her. “You gotta get Brock ready for school,” she heard him mumble.

 

                “I got it, baby. Go back to sleep.”

 

                “Mmm, gotta get up,” he slurred. “Gotta be at the laundromat early.”

 

                Andrea was instantly alert. She stared hard at Jesse, waited for him to say something else, but he hadn’t moved, his eyes and forehead still pressed against the flesh of his arm. She glanced at the window, the dawn already seeping through the blinds. She wondered what Jesse would be doing at a laundromat with a mostly rich Chilean wine connoisseur. She got out of bed, walked naked to the bathroom to grab her robe and slipped it on. When she came back to the bed, Jesse still hadn’t moved.

 

                Sitting on the mattress with a squeak of the box springs, she eased back the sheets to expose him to the cool air of the house.

 

                “Come on, Jesse, time to wake –”

 

                Andrea froze, her mouth still open.

 

                The light cast brightly over his body in a white, fuzzy haze, the sheets pulled down to his thighs, his prick stiff from the blood pumping through him. To its left, up high on his pelvic bone, she saw a series of bruises. One, two, three, four perfect purplish blue circles, like holes punched into lined paper. Her gaze slid to the right, where another set matched it symmetrically. Fingertips digging into flesh. Hands gripping either side of him. She knew without looking that another bruise would be waiting in the back, opposing thumbprints, one-to-one, just under his hips.

 

                Andrea recoiled from the bed in a hurry, feeling sick, her insides churning as she struggled to keep the bile down. Her hand pressed to her mouth. These didn’t come from her. The teeth marks flashed in her brain. How could she be so stupid.

 

                Jesse breathed out a long gust of air, twisting his body. He tugged at the headboard. “Hey, you need to let me go. I need to bounce.”

 

                “Sure, Jesse,” Andrea answered as she strode up to the head of the bed, and her voice sounded a million miles away.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again, all, for your comments. I'm sorry this one took a little longer, but at least it's a lengthier chapter.
> 
> I've got big life stuff going on at the moment. I'm moving from across the country in another few weeks, so I've got a ton of shit to do every day and I've been really lagging. I'm not sure when the next chapter will be done, but I'm trying to carve a little time out of my days for writing. It might be slower going, though. I'll do my best.


	22. The Smile

 

_Jesse, listen to me. You are not a murderer. I’m not and you are not. It’s as simple as that._

 

 

 

                The weaving hymns of giant brushes chugged behind Walter as he stared out at the workers, their mufflers bright orange tumors as they waxed down a Prius while his phone rang balefully in his ear. There was a click, and for a second, Walt’s relief flooded his body. _Yeah, you know the drill._ He ground his teeth in aggravation, but waited patiently for the beep to finish.

 

                “Jesse! This is my fourth message. I don’t know what the hell you’re doing over there, but the week has officially ended and I’m still waiting to hear from you. We – ” He stopped to give a furtive glance behind him. “We _need_ to meet,” he whispered into his cell. “There are _things_ that still need to happen. I’m – I’m running out of time. And so are you. Call me. Get _some_ kind of message to me. Use Saul if you have to, or text me a location, but contact me as soon as possible. This is important, Jesse.”

 

                Walt snapped the phone closed and tucked it into the pocket of his jacket, his eyes squinting against a sudden blast of wet wind swooshing under the tent’s roof. The lack of communication was making him anxious. He had assumed he’d turned a corner with Jesse that day in the boy’s car and yet here he was shirking responsibilities once again. Jesse was supposedly meeting with Fring that evening and yet he’d failed to get the ricin back to Walt. He couldn’t afford for Jesse to blow this, not with Hank back to a DEA-free home by the coming Sunday. Skyler and Marie were already planning a big barbeque for the occasion, as if it were something to celebrate.

 

                Walter headed back inside to the cash register, had resumed restocking the air fresheners just as the owner of the red hatchback came through the door. He slipped behind the counter and took the gentleman’s tag. “I hope everything is to your satisfaction,” he said to the customer, a man who looked to be about his age, perhaps a bit younger. The man nodded approvingly.

 

                “Sure. They’ve done a nice job. I’ll tell my wife to bring her car in here, too.”

 

                Walter made an effort to smile as he finished ringing the sale up. “Well, that’s what we like to hear. We’re a family business, after all. When the kids start driving, you know where to send them. That’ll be twenty six fifty.”

 

                The man’s returning smile was strained as he handed Walt his credit card. “Yeah … we’ve got a few years before my son is ready for a driver’s license, thankfully. He’s a pretty busy kid, anyway. Very bright. He skipped a year going into junior high because his grades were so high. His standardized test scores are already in the top five percentile of the state.”

 

                “That’s impressive,” Walt commented pleasantly as he swiped the card. “I used to teach, so I’ve met a lot of smart kids in my time. It’s amazing what those young minds will absorb, Mr…” He looked down at the front of the card on his way to handing it back to the man and grew still, his insides turning cold. “Mr. _Pinkman.”_ He glanced at Jesse’s father, recognizing him suddenly from classroom meetings gone by.

 

                “Adam, please,” he said, extending a hand towards Walter. “I don’t know if you remember me, but you used to teach my son, Mr. White.”

 

                “Mmm, I’m sorry, but I’ve never taught junior high. I was at, uh, J.P. Wynne, actually,” Walt said as he shook the man’s hand.

 

                Mr. Pinkman looked down at the floor with a faint smirk. “Yes, of course. I’m not talking about my youngest. You taught Chemistry to my other son, Jesse. We had, uh, quite a few parent-teacher conferences with you, my wife and I.”

 

                Walt stroked at his goatee, attempting to appear deep in thought. “Hmm. Jesse, you say? I’m trying to recall …”

 

                Pinkman was giving him a strange look. “He used to be a real problem in your class, judging from the amount of times you called us in. But … anyway, that’s all in the past, now. It’s good that … well, we heard that you’d been having some serious health issues. It was your brother-in-law, I gather, that paid my wife a visit not too long ago. Around the end of last year, maybe? When you went missing? We saw you on television when you did that news segment with your son. I guess going through something like that would prompt a serious life change, eh?” he said, pointing around the inside of the sales lobby.

 

                “Well, it certainly makes you re-evaluate what’s important,” he said, with a fake cheer, the man's condescension making him want to grab him by the throat. “I thought _buying_ this place would be a little less stressful than teaching high school kids, but, that’s not how it works, does it? Being a business owner is always going to be stressful.” He suddenly snapped his fingers. “Oh! _Jesse_ Pinkman! Of course, I do remember him. Yeah, that kid,” he offered a chuckle. “He was a character. How’s he doing now?”

 

                Adam Pinkman leveled a hard gaze at him. “I thought you’d been in touch with him recently,” he said.

 

                Walt shook his head adamantly. “No. Not that I …” In a flash, Hank’s call about Jesse and the RV came to him. “Oh, wait. I guess I did run into him. If we’re talking late last year? Huh. Yes, things were a bit muddled for me around then. All of the medication I was on … for the cancer. It was – I guess I’d forgotten that I’d seen him with everything else that was going on. I can’t imagine what we talked about.”

 

                “Neither can I,” Adam said. He took the stapled receipt from Walt and gave him another nod. “Well, it was very nice to see you again, Mr. White. Good luck with the car wash. We’ll definitely recommend the place to friends,” he offered.

 

                “Well, thank you. I appreciate that. And you be sure to have an A1 day.” Walt smiled until his face hurt.

 

                The smile stay plastered there as he watched Pinkman leave through the door, and Walt made himself count a full thirty seconds before he turned to peer through the vertical blinds at the window. The man was stuffing some dollar bills into the hand of the last wiper before getting into his car. Walter watched him drive away with his fist around the phone in his jacket, an overwhelming urge to leave another message to Jesse rattling him. If only the boy would call back. A gnawing need ate at him, he felt desperate to hear Jesse’s voice. To make sure he was okay, that their plan was still on track. He grimaced at the Prius as it turned into the street. There was something arrogant about the man, the way he gloated over his kid, as if the child’s accomplishments were somehow his own. Walt visualized those long ago conferences with Jesse’s parents and seemed to recall Adam Pinkman being something of a prick. Yes, he was pretty sure. Obviously, the man had never understood Jesse. Certainly not the way Walter did.

 

                The phone clutched in his hand gave a trilling cry and Walt jumped in his skin. He flipped the top without looking at the face. “Jesse?”

 

                It was quiet for a few beats. “It’s your wife, Skyler,” said a frosty voice. Walt winced at his error. His desperation was making him sloppy.

 

                “Sorry, I was, uh, waiting on a call,” he explained hastily. “What’s up?”

 

                “Well, you tell me. Are we still going through with this inane plan? I – I thought you said we were safe.”

 

                “ _We_ are, I told you, but it’s just better if we get Hank away from here for a bit. As a precaution, nothing more. It shouldn’t be that difficult to get your sister to side with you. Surely, you can talk her into taking a vacation for a few weeks? I would imagine that Marie will be over the moon at the prospect of getting Hank out of that house for a little while. And if _she_ wants it, you know she’ll bully Hank into doing it.”

 

                “But two tickets to Germany is quite an expense, Walt. I’m just wary that … that this might seem _too much._ More than the story can support.”

 

                “You said we were showing a profit. And so we’re celebrating that fact by sending those two on a much needed vacation so that they can spend some quality time together. What’s wrong with that story?”

 

                “Uh, you don’t think Hank’s going to question this? Or refuse it outright? I mean, my God, the man has been living under a death threat for the last two weeks.”

 

                “ _Exactly,_ Skyler! So we want to give him a break from all that. We want to give them _both_ a break. As I said, you need to sell it to your sister to get this to work. Call it an apology for the car accident, if you have to; whatever it takes. Can you just do that for me? Can you just do this one thing? It’s _important._ ”

 

                There was another long beat. “But … the _money._ Can we … can we afford it? Why does it have to be Germany?”

 

                Walter clenched his jaw hard enough to make his teeth ache. With the Beneke disaster, he was in dire need of cash flow. Fring wasn’t just a threat to his life, but to his livelihood. There was going to be a long talk with Saul as soon as he had this mess cleared up.

 

                “Germany is famous for their beer. Hank loves beer. And we’re not completely wiped out. We can manage _this._ Although, obviously, it’s still a problem for us. But I’ll figure this out. Just do this one thing for me, Skyler. Please.”

 

                He hung up with her as more customers came through the door. Walter put on his artificial smile and greeted them smoothly, belying the tempest that sloshed and raged inside of him. Jesse needed to call him soon. Walter glanced at the clock on the wall, imagining Jesse leaving the laundry to get in his car. He wondered where he would drive to first. Would he visit the girl? Would Walt have to go back to his original plan? He handed back the change to the couple before him.

 

                “Please give this to your car care professional. And have an A1 day.”

 

 

******

                _“Hi, you’ve reached Andrea Cantillo. I can’t come to the phone right now, so please leave a message and I’ll get back to you soon.”_

                “Hey, um, Andrea. It’s me again. Uh, this is, like, my tenth message. Still waiting to hear from you. I’m getting kind of worried over here. Call me, alright? Seriously, just – let me know you’re okay. Bye.”

 

                Jesse sat in his car, staring at the road in front of him disappear into the horizon, bookended by rocky plateaus in burnished gold against a vivid blue screen. The Brillante truck diminished in his rear view mirror as he drummed the phone on the steering wheel. He thought about Andrea’s sudden turn that morning. He’d awakened to find her in a strange mood: aloof and commanding, her tone prickly as she proceeded to usher him out of the house. Jesse’s arms and back were still sore from the odd position he’d fallen asleep in, but he hadn’t had time to go back home for a hot shower. There had been things he’d needed to do.

 

                He looked at the front of his phone again, noticed another message had popped up. Jesse’s excitement quickly died once he heard Walt’s bitching through the receiver. He sighed, long and heavy, as he punched up Walt’s name. Might as well get it over with.

 

                “Yes? Is this really you?” a voice hissed in his ear.

 

                “Yeah, the one and only. What is it, Mr. White?”

 

                It sounded like a faulty engine spluttering at the other end. “What _is it?_ Did you _forget_ that you were supposed to be meeting with me? What happened to that? Our _plans_ to … wait, is this a secure line?”

 

                Jesse rolled his eyes at the roof of the car, his head landing back on the neck support. “ _Yes,_ why wouldn’t it be? What, you think I’d call you on a land line?”

 

                “Where are you? Are you in your house? ”

 

                “No, dude, I’m out in the middle of fucking nowhere. And I didn’t have a chance to do a meet because I’m _busy,_ alright? But don’t sweat it, ‘cause I got it figured out.”

 

                “You – you _figured it out._ What, Jesse? What exactly did you manage to work out in that addled brain of yours, hmm? I told you I need to – I need the thing to make the solution. We’ve got barely any time left on this …”

 

                “Look, we got _no_ time, okay, asshole? I’m heading by my place to pick up what I need and then I’ve got to get over there. But I told you, I got it under control, Mr. White. Just fucking chill, already. I’ll text you when it’s done.”

 

                “But Jesse, we need to –” Jesse snapped the phone shut. He was nervous enough; he didn’t need Mr. White adding any more stress on his shoulders. Pushing his luck by trying to arrange another meeting with Walter wasn’t high on his list, but then Walt had no idea just how much Jesse’s motivation had changed. He had worked out the details as soon as he’d left Gus’s office – stopping at his house first to call up a few friends while he'd waited for Gus to send him a signal. One that meant he could take out the dildo stuffed up his ass. He’d wanted to do it the moment he had walked through his door, his rage and mortification thick enough to cut through, but there was something eerie about Gus’s words, the way he had insisted that _he’d know_ if Jesse didn’t abide his instructions. Jesse had felt that weird sense of being watched, like he always did at the lab, and it followed him from room to room. But that seemed pretty crazy even for Gus. The guy was just that – a guy – and this idea of him as some sort of all-seeing being was simply Jesse’s paranoia on overload.

 

                Gus, of course, had dragged the time out. Jesse had lain on his bed chain smoking, ready to claw his eyes out, unable to do anything until he’d finally received a text from Gus several hours later. _Now._ That was all that showed up on the face of his phone, and Jesse had instantly stripped to get the thing out of him. He imagined it sending coded messages back to Gus – the plug was probably filled with sensors and computer chips. The thought got his imagination racing - this notion of some kind of surveillance dildo – what if Gus could control it from wherever he was? It made his nerves sing, his body feeling hot and wanting as he convinced himself that Gus probably owned something like that. Something that Gus could put inside of him that would control the way Jesse felt, whether it was good or bad. He’d left the bands and clips that Gus had affixed to him in his office, and soon Jesse was in another delirious state, jacking off furiously just like Gus had wanted him to on the desk. As soon as it was finished, he’d jumped in the shower and then dressed hastily, driving to Badger’s for the weed.

 

                But once he’d arrived at Andrea’s he felt different. He’d wanted to beat down that hold over him, wanted to beat Gus. It was too depressing to fall right back into old behavior, especially knowing it would only fuck up his situation with more gravity. He was tired of being caught in the same cycle. Having Andrea there to flush the weed, then to tie him down so he could just _be;_ so that he couldn’t run, but had to face it – what he’d done to Andrea, to Jane, to all of them, even his parents – she was the only life preserver that he had in a bottomless sea.

 

                Jesse started his engine finally, shifting the car in gear as he took another look around the desert. It would be another weekend from hell with his host, there was no getting away from that. But at least he had a plan in place, and it was a _good_ plan. It might not prevent him from getting pierced but at least that didn’t have to be Gus’s victory. It would be a jumping off point – his commitment to Andrea. She deserved a show of loyalty from him, and if that was the best he had to offer anyone, then it would have to be enough.

 

*******

 

                As was Gus’s standard, the door was unlocked, and Jesse slipped into the house quickly, careful to close the door with barely a click. He toed off his sneakers while darting looks up the stairs, but there was no sign, nor sound of Gus; he was likely waiting in his room for the strip show. Jesse tiptoed to the dining room, socks sliding over the polished wood floor as he glanced around the corners of the room. He left the gift bag of wine on the table where Gus would be able to see it.

 

                He weaved his way up the stairs feeling a little drunk. It was going to happen. This was the night he would play agent of death once more. The thought didn’t make him feel sick, the way it had a few weeks back. He didn’t feel scared, he didn’t feel happy. There was simply a thrumming in his center that reverberated through bone and tissue, leaving a buzzing in his head, like he’d become the filament of a light bulb. This was the night he would get his life back. He was going to poison Gus. In less than a week, Gus would be dead.

 

                Standing at the doorway to Gus’s room, he cast his gaze towards the bed where his captor waited calmly, his expression impenetrable. There was no uniform this week, Gus was dressed casually, his shirt already unbuttoned halfway. Jesse didn’t see any sign of the baton and was just about to take a breath of relief when he noticed the wreath of rope at the foot of the bed. Gus held out a hand to prompt him, and Jesse began to unbuckle his pants. As soon as he was naked, he strode to his usual spot on the floor, started to bend to his knee, but Gus stood up to stop him, grabbing him by the waist.

 

                “Wait. Not now. Let’s get your bath out of the way first.”

 

                Jesse was led into the adjoining room, the bath already drawn for him. He got in without being directed, easing himself into the hot water as Gus prepared his soaping ritual. He felt strangely disconnected to the scene – Gus rubbing and probing him as he ran a cloth over Jesse’s body was now simply a matter of course, no longer an act that affected him. There was no point in getting upset over it. Gus viewed him as an object to be owned, Jesse understood that, yet he struggled to not lose himself in the judgment. When he stepped out of the tub for his rubdown, he thought only of the ricin waiting in his pocket. Nothing else was as important. It wouldn’t matter what Gus did to him tonight, if he could only get through it.

 

                “Are you cold? You’re shaking,” Gus said.

 

                “Yeah. I’m a little cold,” he answered, his mind back in the hallway.

 

                “I will get you warm soon. Follow me.” Gus took him by the hand again, leading him to the end of the bed. He stationed Jesse in front of him, both of them facing the mirror over the dresser, and Gus’s hands flittered over the tops of Jesse’s shoulders. There were several dress shirts sitting on the dresser top, still folded up with their paper strip bindings. Gus held one against Jesse’s chest, right under his chin, then held up the second shirt next to it, one a deeper shade of blue. He sniffed at the color palette, dropping them back on the dresser and reaching for another. The last shirt was a green shade. As Jesse scanned his reflection, his gaze was drawn to the spatter of blackish blue dots below his hips. He peered into the mirror closer, looking down at his own body to confirm that there were bruises all over him. A chill spread through Jesse as he imagined Andrea’s reaction to seeing them.

 

                “While blue is a rather obvious choice, I like the viridian. It looks vibrant next to your skin color.”

 

                “Uh, that’s great. Are we getting dressed up for something?” Jesse asked, sounding bored. He was still nervous about the visit to the ink parlor, but he knew that Gus wouldn’t let him get out of it a second time.

 

                “Your first day at the restaurant. I have a suit picked out for the occasion. We’ll need to go by the tailor to get it fitted for you.”

 

                “Um, how is that gonna work exactly? I got a pretty heavy quota to fill and I’m doing it by myself. You planning on cutting back on production so I can play inspector for you?”

 

                Gus sniffed again, his tone haughty. “Your schedule is being worked out. There will be some days where you will need to go in to the lab later in the day, after you’ve made some rounds. It is nothing you won’t be able to handle.”

 

                “Oh, so now I gotta work late to get your orders done? I do have a life, you know.”

 

                “Such as it is,” Gus commented drily, running a tape measure along the back of Jesse’s shoulders between pinched fingers. He turned it vertically to line against Jesse’s spine and Jesse jerked, his nipples feeling cold and tight. His cock stirred and Jesse closed his eyes, willing his sensitivity away. He was desperate to quell his ardor for whatever pleasure he thought Gus could manifest in him. Gus circled the band around Jesse’s waist, took note of the inches and dropped it in the pile with the shirts. His hands settled on Jesse’s hips, the gesture more territorial than affectionate, and Gus spoke to him through the glass.

 

                “We have an appointment with Ernesto in the very early hours of the morning. He’s made a special exception for us, so that we may avoid his usual crowd. Please be respectful throughout the procedure. This is a great favor he is doing for us.”

 

                “You mean you,” Jesse said, addressing Gus in the same reflection.

 

                Gus frowned. “Excuse me?”

 

                “You mean, he’s doing a great favor for _you._ ” Jesse widened his eyes devilishly. “What did you have to promise him, I wonder?”

 

                The frown became a crooked smile. “I told him you were worth it. That he would enjoy working on you.”

 

                “Great,” Jesse sighed. Gus was fiddling with something in one of the drawers, and then the everything in front of him was gone – a dark sash covered his eyes. “Hey! What the hell? What are you doing?” There was a tight pinch at the back of his head as a knot was stretched into place. Another round of tying made the pressure at his eyes and temples more pronounced, and then hands were on him and Jesse’s fear rose in his throat. Only the barest hint of light peeked through the sash.

 

                “This way. Hold on to me and I will steer you to the bed,” Gus said, his guiding voice deeper and more commanding.

 

                Jesse put his hands out in front of him, trying to feel his way, but Gus grabbed hold of them, moved him carefully until Jesse’s knees were pressed against the mattress. There was a light smack on his rear end and Jesse climbed up, moved around on all fours until he imagined he was facing the wall. Gus pressed at his hips, forcing him to sit.

 

                “No, turn around. You will lie down. Here, put your head against the pillows.”

 

                “What’s going on? If we’re not going to get me pierced yet, why aren’t we, I don’t know, eating dinner, or what have you? What is this?”

 

                “Just do as I say. You will know soon enough. Now, move your back up a bit. Like this. Yes. Put your arms up.”

 

                He felt a mountain of pillows stacked underneath him, one seemingly turned upright to rest right under his neck. When he stretched his arms out, Gus was already on the bed, grabbing a wrist to bring it up to the headboard’s post. Jesse felt the rope on his skin, felt Gus work quickly so that it was looped around in a few circles before a knot was tied. As his arm hung there, he felt a brief sense of calm, recalling the peace that had stolen over him the night before as Andrea had pressed against him. Gus leaned over him to rope the other arm up and Jesse could smell the faint cologne on Gus’s skin, while underneath there was a hunger that seemed to emit its own tang. He didn’t know what to expect with Gus, ever, but he wanted to stabilize his fear. He could remain calm in the face of anything Gus dished out, as long as he kept his focus on the vial waiting for them both.

 

                There was a shift on the bed as Gus’s weight disappeared, feet padding on carpet attuning Jesse to his direction. Noises to his right seemed to indicate that Gus was in the closet, that he was holding something heavy and cumbersome as he made his way back to the bed. He heard Gus moving whatever it was back on his left, near the window, and then there was an electronic whine. Goosepimples raided his skin.

 

                “What was that? Is that a camera? Did you just turn on a camera?” He noted the quaking alarm in his voice and tried to steady himself. “Gus? What do you think you’re doing?” It was maddening, not being able to see anything, the reliance on the rest of his senses only accelerating them. When Gus’s hand brushed the underside of Jesse’s thigh, he nearly jumped off the bed. Gus held both of his knees in a grip, began to widen them.

 

                “I need you to spread your legs all the way. As far as you can,” he insisted. “You will do this now.”

 

                Jesse attempted to comply, feeling ungainly and vulnerable as Gus took hold of his ankle and started to double the rope around it. Once he was done, he dragged Jesse’s leg even higher, until the hamstrings screamed and made him hiss through his teeth. Gus was doing something detailed, but once he let go of Jesse and stepped away, Jesse’s leg was still poised in the air.

 

                “Oh my God, what are you doing?” he groaned as the knotting began again on his other ankle. When Gus finished, Jesse was completely spread-eagled, his body half raised on a gaggle of pillows. The strain in his legs was already unbearable as he tried to keep them aloft.

 

                “Gus, this is killing my legs, what the fuck? I ain’t no gymnast. Jesus.”

 

                “Then let go,” Gus suggested calmly. There was a slap under his knee. “You are holding these up for no reason. Let go and the rope will suspend them.”

 

                Jesse released a big gust of breath then let his muscles go slack. His legs stayed in the air but the pain lessened as the ropes supported him. He felt Gus move off the bed again, heard the sound of footsteps padding in the direction of the bathroom. There was the clink and slam of motion at the mirrored cabinet and then Gus was suddenly sitting next to him again. He felt something brush up against his bottom, Gus patting him on the behind to signal that he needed to raise it. A towel was tucked underneath him, after several heavy items were plunked on the mattress. A lid was popped, followed by the aerosol sound of a spray can. A hot, wet cloth was draped over his scrotum and Jesse yelled in surprise. “God damn it, Gus! What the hell?”

 

                “Calm yourself. Have some patience.”

 

                When the heat was removed, cold foam replaced it, fingers spreading it around in concentric circles. Jesse groaned again, realizing what was in store, irritated for not expecting it. The touch was retracted and there was nothing for a moment, and Jesse imagined Gus fastidiously wiping the shaving cream from between each finger. A blade scraped from the bottom of his ballsac, right above the perineum, to coast over taut skin.

 

                “You know, I’m actually surprised it took you this long,” Jesse droned sarcastically, feeling less threatened.

 

                “For the piercings. It is better. But we should continue this.”

 

                “Yeah, well you better keep it to my nut sack. I mean it, Gus. I’m not gonna walk around like some hairless twink. I like my pubic hair, thank you very much. My girl isn’t gonna dig me looking like a fag.”

 

                “Where do you learn these words?” Gus asked. Jesse couldn’t be sure if he detected amusement or not.

 

                “What words?”

 

                “ _Twink._ Bareback. Rent boy. For someone as heterosexual as yourself, you seem to be versed quite well in queer language.”

 

                Jesse was not too far gone to not take umbrage with the remark. “Oh, like, I don’t know anything outside of my own culture? Like, I can’t read, or something?”

 

                “What, pray tell, are you reading, then? I would be curious to know.”

 

                “Uh, like a magazine. You know, gossip rags and shit, like _Us_ or _People_ , or whatever.”

 

                “I am not familiar with these publications,” Gus said as he rounded the blade over the side of a testicle. “Are they geared towards a homosexual audience?”

 

                Jesse huffed with indignation. “Oh, shut up. I mean, you really think you’re the only gay dude I ever met? I’m no homophobe,” he said seriously. “I don’t discriminate, you get me? I used to know this couple who were good customers of mine. Dudes were like married and everything. They were even thinking about adopting, although I told them a few times that they might want to get off the meth first. You know, that might be a good, solid step towards decent parenting, and all.” The slow scrape of his balls continued and Jesse let the patter of his voice lull him into a relaxed state. “They used to call me _honeybee_ all the time. One of them was always trying to fix my hair. The other guy would always tell me, _oh look who’s in the pink, man,_ every time he saw me at the door. He thought his lame-ass joke was really funny, too. They even asked me if I’d join them in a three-way one time, but I just told ‘em, I’m not down with dick. Sorry, dudes, it’s pussy all the way. That’s how I said it to them, too, like, really nice, no having a shitfit or anything. You can’t help what turns you on, right? It goes both ways. I can’t make myself like something I’m not wired for, you dig?”

 

                Gus didn’t respond but encircled Jesse’s dick with his fingers and lifted it high to shave the last of the foam. Jesse breathed heavily through his nose and mouth, willing his erection away, but then Gus began lightly stroking it up and down and within seconds Jesse was hard.

 

                “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. What were you saying?” Gus asked innocently, using a towel to wipe Jesse’s testicles clean while his grip stayed firm around the cock pulsing in his hand.

 

                “Fuck off,” Jesse muttered, turning his head to where he imagined a camera sat on its tripod. He split his fingers and flashed two birds towards the general area. A band was curled and snapped at his bent knee and Jesse’s nerves jumped again, his body tensing at the sound. “What are you doing now?”

 

                Gus didn’t answer, but did the same thing on the other one so that both legs were thudding from the cinched blood flow. When Jesse felt Gus start playing with the bars in his nipple, he groaned aloud. “Jesus!” he cried. “What is your deal with those?” But Gus pressed on, twisting and pulling, until Jesse felt the familiar tug of a chain run through rings, the skin around each nipple going taut as the chains were clipped to the leather bands. He adjusted his back, trying to push himself up so that the drag wouldn’t be as painful.

 

                “I’m just gonna put this out there, but if you rip my nipples off, I’m gonna be – _ohfuuuuck!!”_

The tongue delving into his ass cut him off. Gus was never going to prepare him for that. Gus sawed in and out of him and Jesse was almost thankful that his legs were splayed already so that he didn’t have to face the shame of spreading them wider. His grunts came deeper and with frequency as Gus rolled his tongue, licked and speared and sucked, slapping his ass on occasion. The next moment there was only cold air on his wet skin, and Jesse raised his head, clamped his mouth shut before he could beg for more. He heard a belt buckle drop to the floor, leaving his mouth dry as he tried to swallow around the tickle in his throat. “Gus?” he called out hesitantly. There was a depression on the mattress and then the tongue was back. Jesse jolted, his torso slung back towards the headboard as soon as Gus penetrated him, mouthing his cock at the same time.

 

                “Oh God,” he moaned, damning Gus in his head for doing this right before Jesse was getting ready to kill him. His prick was fully hard, the constriction in his balls becoming a heartbeat. Gus pulled out a finger, slid two back in, then brought them both out part way, spread them into a vee so that Jesse felt the stretch, felt Gus insert his tongue in the vacant space once more. He groaned louder as Gus pistoned fingers in and out of him feverishly, tongue dancing with them in frantic bursts. Being bound and blindfolded left Jesse powerless, pinned in the darkness, but it somehow left him feeling freer, as well, as more appreciative noises issued from his mouth. Gus didn’t have to be looking at him. No one had to be looking at him. He couldn’t do anything about this, but what Gus was doing required a response, and Jesse was helpless but to give it. But the hands didn’t have to belong to Gus. They could be anyone, they could be no one. He felt the fingers exit, imagined what he looked like without them, but then Gus was pressing his thumbs together pushing them in, stretching Jesse open further.

 

                “ _God_ , oh my god, _yes_.” He wanted to shut up, to suffer silently, but it felt more exciting when he didn’t hold back. Jesse heard the expectorate before it splat against him. Something rigid was pressed to him this time. A thing that was inflexible and cold. Gus took his time filling him with the dildo, one that seemed much more unforgiving than previous versions. Skin was pinched and dragged inside of him and Jesse hissed in pain. “Wait, stop. I … I need more grease, man.”

 

                “You will take what I give you,” Gus said, his breath on Jesse’s scrotum. There was more pressure and Jesse cried out again. “Seriously!” he insisted. Then the object was gone. For a few dizzying moments, Jesse could only feel more tongue, more spit, more fingers, and then his cock ensnared in a wet, warm mouth. There was a slap to his balls and he jerked his body upwards, his hip hitting Gus’s forehead, the movement causing the chains to pull tighter at his nipples. His legs were now trembling and soon another slap hit his ass.

 

                “Shit, what? What do you want?” he begged of Gus. But the other man was gone, his weight suddenly creaking off the bed. Jesse hung there in limbo awaiting his return, but when he felt Gus’s presence draw near he was unprepared once again for Gus’s next move. He heard a loud swat before a sting bloomed on the posterior of his thigh.

 

                “ _Ow_! Gus, c’mon! What did I do?”

 

                The next blow hit his right haunch, then a swat on his balls. He screamed. Another one came down on his stomach, then his nipple, catching the chain for a moment. “ _Gus_!! What did I do?!” he cried. A rain of blows followed, the stings overwhelming his body as the leather square swatted every exposed patch of skin. There were more to his testicles, to his dick, all the way up the underside of each leg, and Jesse cried out with every hit, trying to squirm away from them as he attempted to anticipate where the next one would land.

 

                “Gus! Stop, please! I’m sorry! Whatever I did!”

 

                “You’re not listening,” Gus said, stopping for a moment, his breaths harsh and hoarse.

 

                “What?” Another smack on his ass made Jesse groan deep in his throat.

 

                “You’re not listening to the body. Stop all of this commotion and pay attention. Ride it through.”

 

                Jesse clamped his teeth shut in fury but went quiet. He tilted his head so he could rest on the soft lump under it. When the next _thwap_ came, he flinched but said nothing. He felt Gus’s hand pressed to a buttock, fingering away flesh, and then the sting was right on his asshole. His muscles seized and his body bucked, the ropes absorbing the motion, but he only allowed a grunt to escape him. Gus hit him in the same place again, harder this time, and Jesse locked his throat against his cry, let his mind dwell on the flush of heat spreading through him. His ass throbbed. His cock throbbed. Jesse needed something magnetic inside of him to draw these pulses together.

 

                “Better,” Gus said approvingly. “Your skin might feel enflamed but it is alive and awakened. It is ready to feel more.” A hand stroked over his hair, around his ear, along his jaw, down his neck. Jesse couldn’t suppress his moan.

 

                “Sorry,” he muttered.

 

                “No, this is okay. I like the way you moan. Very much. It is the yelling and whining that is unnecessary theatrics. Just listen. Listen to the vibrations inside of you. You are an instrument. You are capable of beautiful music.” Jesse’s legs were pulled towards Gus and the chains at his nipples strained against them. Jesse sang. Another sting on his chest, just below one nipple, and his moans deepened.

 

                There was a break once more, nothing happening for a moment; Jesse’s breathing the only sound in the room. It was loud enough to drown out every voice in his head. His flesh burned but it was crying out for more. He wanted to speak, wanted to call out for Gus, to beg him to touch him. To stroke him. To fuck him. He needed to be touched, to soothe the flames.

 

                Lips brushed the head of his cock. “ _Oh_ ,” he breathed. Gus kissed him there, sucked on the glans gently until Jesse was trying to lift his bottom, trying to push his dick closer to Gus’s mouth. His legs bounced in their binds as he tried again. There was a light kiss to his scrotum, now tight and hot. A lick across his hole. “ _Aaahh.”_ Jesse opened his mouth wider as another kiss doused the fire on the back of his thigh. He felt fingertips lightly traipsing the ropes at his ankles before they skied down the backs of his legs like slalom racers, curving over his ass and then sliding up along his sides. A trail of moist kisses made their way up his chest. Teeth pulled at the ring of one nipple and more sounds escaped him. “ _Mmmmm.”_ A hand clutched at his waist. He felt the shape of Gus above him, his aural input noting Gus’s breathing, hammered and serious. When lips finally landed on his mouth, he opened it wide, let Gus fill him with tongue and need and longing. The kiss was the only thing he could feel, concentrating all of his senses into one. He moaned into Gus’s mouth and hands gripped the sides of his face. Tongues twined and slicked together and then Gus pushed his deeper into Jesse, and Jesse received it, blood in his ears and his body trembling like he was jonesing for a hit, desperate for some contact to give him the first flush in his bloodstream as Gus ravaged his throat. He wanted to feel skin pressed to his, wanted to be swept up in whatever Gus was giving him.

 

                Gus pulled away and Jesse chased him with his mouth, but there was a shift and heavy breaths as Jesse felt Gus’s cock pressed against him. There was partial penetration before the cock stopped moving. Jesse made a small whine in his throat, lifted his bottom-half again in an attempt to capture more cock.

 

                “Tell me what you want,” Gus said, his baritone rich and dense, cutting through the stimulus overload Jesse was experiencing.

 

                He sighed. He knew what Gus wanted from him, but he still didn’t want to give it, couldn’t give himself over.

 

                “Uh, a blowjob would be nice. You offering?”

 

                The cock disappeared and Gus started to move off the bed.

 

                “Hey, whoah. Where are you going? I’m – I’m just playing with you, man. Just – just come back.”

 

                The flesh of his ass was split wider and he was licked, coated and laved, Gus’s attentiveness like that of a mother cat washing her babe, but soon Gus’s cock was pressed there again. Gus pushed in and then pulled his hips back, the slick squish of the cock’s head grazing up and down skin. “Try again. What do you want?”

 

                Jesse turned away, facing in the direction of the window yet seeing nothing but black behind his eyes. He huffed in frustration, feeling his stress return. “Just … just do it, man. Fuck me, okay?”

 

                “This is not good enough,” Gus said, his breath snaky and winded over Jesse’s chest.

 

                “I – I want you to put it inside me.”

 

                The hard feel of cock stretching him open made Jesse writhe, but Gus had only barely pushed past the ring when he stopped. “Like this?” he asked.

 

                Jesse heaved his distress. “Nah, uh, fuck. Just … deeper. All of it. I want all of it.”

 

                Gus began to slide out. “All of what?”

 

                “Your cock. I want all of your cock.” Jesse gulped around the thick webbing that clogged the back of his throat. “ _Please_ ,” he hissed.

 

                Gus drove into him then retreated again. Jesse could feel him burrow in half way, the pulse beating inside Jesse a blip on a sonar screen. “Tell me everything. What do you want?”

 

                “I said it already. I want you to fuck me. What do _you_ want?”

 

                “You know what it is that I want from you.”

 

                Jesse was twisting his head in every direction, looking for a way out of his ties as he pulled against them. He felt itchy and hot – he was losing his high, needed things to move forward, to get some fucking satisfaction from this nightmare. He had a vision of Andrea underneath him, her arms caught in the same wingspan. “Please, Daddy,” he groaned. “I want you to fuck me so hard. I want it all, man. _Balls deep_. I want to feel them. Your balls slapping against me while you plow my ass. Come on, baby. Fuck me. I’ll do whatever you want.” His voice was breathy, too, like a little girl’s. “Just let me feel your dick in me.”

 

                Gus plunged deep and Jesse arched his back, his mouth open for a long, winding cry. His ass felt full for a moment and then Gus started to pound him, thrusting into him relentlessly, Jesse’s legs shaking, his body slammed towards the head of the bed. Gus leaned down to kiss him and Jesse let him, kissed him back harder, his neck straining as he raised his head off the pillows, his limbs pulled tight. When Gus slowed, he pushed the insides of Jesse’s legs wider and held on, bore his body down until Jesse could feel the base of Gus’s thick cock dilate him further, feeling like he was being torn. Gus held himself there for a minute, his full weight pinning Jesse, mouth wandering, lips scraping along the contours of Jesse’s face. It was too much and not enough. Jesse pulled away as far as his restraints would allow, but when Gus cradled Jesse’s chin and turned his face back for another kiss, Jesse sighed into his mouth. He couldn’t take these actions back. He had become a willing participant who wanted to get fucked. And he wanted Gus to fuck him. He pulled his head away again.

 

                “Enough of this Harlequin bullshit,” he breathed. “I want it rough. I’m just your whore, remember? Your little _puta_. I thought you wanted to hurt me. Don’t you wanna see me come?”

 

                It was quiet for a beat, the body on top of him still. “Yes,” Gus answered, but Jesse wasn’t sure which question was being addressed.

 

                “So then let me have it, Gustavo.”

 

                For a moment, nothing happened. And then everything happened. Gus began by moving slowly, his thrusts laggardly and accommodating. Jesse’s cock was stroked and played with and he squirmed with the pleasure pervading every crevice and nook of his body. But then Gus was reaching up to the headboard to tug at the ropes, his cock still piercing Jesse and easing his body along. Jesse’s arm dropped as soon as Gus freed him and he flexed his fingers to get the blood rushing through them again. Gus worked quickly on his other wrist and then both arms were loose and Jesse wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. Pillows were plucked from underneath him until he flopped back on the bed, his legs still high in the air with his knees trying to bend enough to slacken the chains. Fingers gripped tightly just above his calves and then Gus was moving faster, fucking him with increased effort.

 

                “Yeah, _yeah, yeah,”_ he goaded. Gus sped up, the slapping of flesh gaining volume and intensity. Jesse got off on the sound, and the sucking smack of Gus’s testicles bouncing against him. “God, do it, yeah, fuck it, fuck that hole.” There was a twinge in his nipples when Gus took hold of both chains in one hand, dragging them down until Jesse sucked in his breath, started to whine from the sharp pain. Things changed again when he was suddenly emptied and Gus began to unloosen the ropes at an ankle. Jesse started to panic even as a thrill sparked through him. He never knew what to expect with Gus, whether it would hurt or not. As soon as Jesse’s leg was unbound, Gus was bending it, twisting his body in the process. Hands were underneath him and then he was turned on his side, his free leg pushed all the way up until his knee was practically banging his forehead. The nerves in his nipples screamed, but the pain barely registered once Gus was entering him again, sideways this time. This felt new and exploratory, Gus immediately hitting spots that made Jesse’s voice pitch higher. The rhythm increased, until it was frantic, Gus pummeling him as he pressed Jesse’s knee into his cheek. He couldn’t form words anymore, just long syllables of sound and hisses and mewls. Gus shifted again, and Jesse felt him at his back, going back to a more measured pace. Jesse was hoping it would get rougher but then he felt a hand on his dick, and it was sweet and glorious, the long glides from fingers matching the glides in and out of his ass. Kisses ran across his shoulders, down his spine, and Jesse was about to lose himself in a daze when Gus was turning him on his back once more.

 

                “You are mine,” Gus told him clearly as he pulled Jesse’s leg up and then pressed it all the way down till his knee bashed his ear. The fucking grew fevered and intense, until suddenly Gus slapped his face. Jesse was shocked into silence, but then Gus was leaning down to kiss him fervently, his shoulders at Jesse’s thighs. There was another flurry of movement as Gus pulled out and tended to the last knotted limb. Jesse moaned with relief and discomfort as the muscles in his legs protested, but Gus didn’t let him rest, was pushing at his hips. “Up on your knees, turn this way.”

 

                Jesse tried to follow what was being requested, but the chains dragged and caught. Gus lifted him to all fours, flipping him in the other direction, although Jesse no longer knew which direction that was in context of the room, the chains at his chest jangling as they were pulled taut again. His head was pressed against what felt like Gus’s hip and then Gus was folding his body over his, a tongue strolling along Jesse’s back until it trailed down to the split in his ass. Fingers tugged at him, dragging the globes of flesh apart, a thumb pressed inside of him. Gus spit on him, the thumb swirling it around and then fucking him, Gus’s tongue soon following. Arms circled around Jesse’s thighs, a grip back on his cock, pulling it and stretching it roughly while Gus rimmed him like he was digging for gold.

 

                “ _Jeee-zus._ Christ, what the hell, Gus.” But Gus slapped his ass hard, rubbing at it a second later, pulling his ass apart again and returning to his feast. Jesse’s dick continued to get jerked and he started to pump into the hand, spreading his knees out so that Gus could have complete access. It all felt incredible and then Gus stopped again, flipping Jesse to his back. “Ah, God, you’re fucking – _ohh_ ” but Gus cut him off with his mouth and tongue, teeth nibbling his lips, then nipping along Jesse’s throat. Gus twisted Jesse's body around however it suited him and Jesse followed. His legs were spread again, and he held them aloft on his own, even grabbed under his knees to open himself wider. When Gus devoured his cock, practically swallowing the head, his moan pitched across the whole floor of the house. Digits were stuffed back inside him but when Jesse opened his mouth to laud his partner, the grimy taste of sweat and skin quickly filled it. Gus had shoved half of his hand into Jesse’s mouth, the fingers curled together as they pressed to the back of his throat. He choked, grabbed for Gus’s wrist to ease him back, but then Gus took his cock so far down that Jesse imagined he hit tonsils. Lips brushed skin until even his balls were partially engulfed by Gus’s mouth. Jesse was awed, and worked the fingers on his tongue in return, mimicking the moves of every girl who had ever sucked him off memorably. At this point, he didn’t care what he was doing as long as he was still floating. Gus could stick his dick into Jesse’s mouth in that moment and Jesse would gladly take it. Gus could put any dick in his mouth and Jesse wouldn’t think to question it, would only spread his legs wider so that Gus could fuck him senseless just like this. He had ceased thinking and had turned into pulp, his body simply an organism of responsiveness.

 

                Gus’s head bobbed diligently, savoring every bit of Jesse, fingers plunging like machinery, and Jesse attempted to match his pace, sawing his own head back and forth as he choked around Gus’s phallic invasion. When Gus stopped what he was doing, got on his knees to straddle Jesse’s waist, Jesse expected that his introduction to a cock in his mouth would be next, but instead, Gus slapped him again, grabbed at the scruff of hair on his head and pulled his head upwards. He was lifted and flipped again, until he was on his knees, too, the pressure on the back of his head pushing him into the mattress. There were more slaps to his ass as Gus held Jesse down by his neck. Fingers pumped him momentarily before an exploring tongue took over. He felt split wide again by Gus’s cock, and then Gus was energized into action, fucking him hard and fast until everything shook. Jesse was exhausted and ready to come, but then Gus was slipping an arm under his thigh and one strapped across his chest, was pulling him up straight until he had Jesse bouncing on his dick. Jesse was hoarse from his grunts, the hand flying over his cock almost bringing him to tears. “ _Gus,”_ he begged. He was dropped to the bed, Gus’s weight pressing him down, arms wrapped around his own and holding down his head. He tried to move it to the side so he could breathe, the sash at his eyes sliding with the motion but still obscuring his vision. Gus fucked him ruthlessly, perhaps harder than he’d ever done, pulling Jesse up by the hips so that he was on his knees, feet bent and toes planted, his head and chest still pinned as Gus overwhelmed him, pumping into him with ferocity until Jesse was only a sounding board for long vowels ripping his throat. There was finally a reprieve, Gus slowing down, the stickiness inside of him moving outside as Gus finished coming all over his ass, rubbing it into his skin. Gus was breathing hard enough to make Jesse’s head swim, but he took only a few moments to recuperate before he was turning Jesse on his back, scooping under knees and spreading Jesse wide once more as he moved down his body to shove his tongue back inside him. Jesse could only voice one long, continuous moan as Gus jerked him off while he tongue-fucked him, the sucking sounds in his asshole as Gus ate him out making Jesse want to close off his ears, wished for a bag over his head instead of just the blindfold. Gus started to blow him, shoving a thumb into Jesse like he was corking a dam, his hand stroking along Jesse’s chest until it was gripped around his neck. Gus didn’t stop again, but slavishly brought him off, Jesse crying out although the only thing he could hear was the blood rushing in his head, his heart beating so hard he quaked. Gus gripped Jesse’s balls as he milked every last drop that pulsed from his cock. Everything went still for an interminable moment, Jesse’s breaths now as loud and ragged as Gus’s.

 

                Light suddenly flooded his eyes and he blinked violently against it, the room and its contents blurry and bright. Then there was Gus looming over him, his expression impassive. Gus slid his arms under Jesse’s back and held him, pressed his mouth to his, made Jesse open wide. Jesse spluttered against Gus’s lips as soon as he tasted the spunk on his tongue, but swallowed it dutifully. At least it was his own. But his curiosity was sparked, wondering what the taste of Gus would be like. Gus deepened the kiss until it was too much, until it was everything, and Jesse had to push against Gus’s shoulders, tried to disentangle himself from Gus’s hold. Gus raised himself on his elbows, stared down at Jesse with something different in his eyes, something Jesse couldn’t decipher but looked eerily close to respect. Perhaps even awe, the feeling mirrored in Jesse.

 

                Gus took a long deep breath then smiled down at him. “You are learning,” he said. He unsnapped the familiar leather bands at Jesse's knees then got off the bed, strode over to his closet and returned in his robe. He smiled at Jesse again, and it was warm and pleased. “Well? Go clean up. You and I will prepare something for dinner. Together.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm pushing back my trip, but it's still been a crazy few weeks. Writing sex scenes is hard, man. I felt like I was giving birth trying to write this chapter. 
> 
> Thanks for your well wishes, everyone. It's really gratifying to write Andrea and give her a life, so I'm thrilled that her point-of-view resonates with so many of you. 
> 
> Saturn Girl - hey! It was so lovely to see you're still reading. Thank you so much for your comment. I agree that Andrea does not strike me as one afraid to be confrontational, either. As for the erotica, I hope this chapter didn't make you feel too guilty :)


	23. The Deed

  _No. I'm going to do this one way or another, Mr. White._

 

 

                Gus watched as the boy pulled the chains free from the rings at his chest looking quite dazed. From where he stood, Gus could see him trembling. He walked over to the bed and held out a chivalrous hand. The boy stared at him for a moment, eyes as big as moons, then took it timidly, allowing Gus to pull him up to a standing position. He stood wavering on wobbly legs, turning behind him to check the other end of the room. The camcorder by the window continued to record them. The boy stared down at the items still cast around the bed, knocked to the edges by kicking feet. The can of shaving cream had fallen to the floor, while the crop poked out from under a few tossed pillows.

 

                “You _were_ filming us.” the boy said softly. He darted a look to Gus then dropped his eyes to the carpet. “Why’d you do that?”

 

                Gus strode to the camera to shut it off. “If you could see yourself the way that I do, you wouldn’t bother to ask that question,” Gus told him. “But you will … soon.” He nodded his head towards the bathroom. “Now go on. Meet me downstairs and we’ll have something light to eat.” He started for the door but Pinkman hurried past him, moved into the hallway to pick up his clothes.

 

                “Um, is it okay if I get dressed?” he asked shyly, and Gus noted the switch in temperament. The change he’d undergone after Gus had tied him up had been duly welcomed.

 

                “Go hang them up in the en suite. When you are done in there, I’ll have something waiting for you to wear.”

 

                The boy disappeared into the bathroom, gingerly closing the door behind him. Gus went back to the closet to find the robe he’d bought for Pinkman. As soon as he reached for it on the hanger, a sharp pain stabbed his heart. Gus bent over, clutching both fists to his chest, his breathing labored as he rode it through. It was gone quickly but the aftershocks riddled him as he tried to regain his balance, his breaths in harsh bursts through his nose. He had to be careful. His doctor had chastised him enough. But every dent into the boy’s resistance made him eager for more, made Gus want to immediately leap to the next assault on Pinkman’s defenses. He had expected to leave Pinkman bound to the bed for most of the night, to teach him some patience and humility, but also to wear him down. Yet inundating the boy with pleasure became more gratifying as Pinkman began to respond so favorably, as he most definitely had a moment ago, and Gus wanted to keep the engine roaring, to push the boy further to see what he would do next. There were benefits to having the boy’s reactions on tape, Gus thinking ahead to the nights when he could study the video as he had the surveillance. The blindfold had been very effective and Gus filed the information away as he ruminated on what might be moved up in the night remaining, before the dawn broke and they had their appointment with Ernesto.

 

                He laid out the robe and underwear on the bed and then headed for the downstairs floor. Gus was on his way to the kitchen when he noticed an oddity out of the corner of his eye, a burst of color in the dining room where none belonged. He turned to see a tall gift bag on the table, tissue paper tongues escaping its well and an explosion of ribbon at the head. Gus walked slowly into the room, eyeing the gift as he would a coiled serpent. He fingered the bottom of the bag, twisted it around a few times. The weight and height of it indicated a bottle inside. Gus peeled back a tongue and saw a flash of gold foil. Pulling out the bottle of wine, he stared at it for a long moment. He looked back towards the stairs and frowned. How on earth had Pinkman managed to choose one of his favorite labels, let alone such an exceptional vintage?

 

                Bringing it to the kitchen, Gus left it on the first island to open later with dinner. He was deeply curious about the gesture. Gus would be sure to have the boy drink some. He went to the refrigerator and began pulling out ingredients, had just set down a tub of lettuce when Pinkman walked in. The surprise on the boy’s face was quickly replaced with relief once he saw the bottle on the counter.

 

                “Oh, so you got it already.” Pinkman spread his hands as he glanced down at his attire and then back at Gus. “Seriously? Did you buy this at the gayest store in Gaytown, or was this left behind by your wife, or something?”

 

                Gus smirked at the picture the boy made, unable to contain his delight. “It looks very attractive on you. Your skin tone is gorgeous next to these colors. And no, Pilar would never wear something like this.” He took it as a positive sign that Pinkman was fairly resigned to the outfit.

 

                It was a new purchase. He had seen it in the store and instantly wanted to see it on the boy. The kimono-style was short, the hem settling just below the boy’s ass, and featured a rococo pattern of bright _Erté_ feathers in purples and greens. It _was_ pretty gay, but that was rather the point.

 

                Pinkman sighed. “Whatever. But a thong? Was that really necessary? It’s a little humiliating.”

 

                Gus pointed to his gift. “What is this for, may I ask? And more importantly, where did you find such an exquisite vintage? Carmín de Peumo is the finest Carmenere in the world. Tapia has awarded it every year it’s been made, but last year’s bottling was quite something. Although, I hear this year is another success. I already have a case on reserve.” He smiled at Pinkman. “Well done, Jesse. I am impressed.”

 

                The boy blushed, looked down at the floor again. “Uh, yeah, cool. I, uh … I got it as a thank you. For … you know, getting me into your legit organization. Making _me_ legit. You, uh, didn’t have to do that. I know I was bitching about more work, but … I understand that this is smart.” He was playing with his nails, still avoiding eye contact. “And, um … no one,” he finally looked up. “No one has ever, you know, watched outfor me like that before. So … thanks.”

 

                Gus let out a heavy breath, thought of Walter running over his two drug dealers to save the young man standing before him. “You are very welcome. This will be good for you, wait and see. I expect you to flourish in management. I want you to be able to see how both businesses work. They are symbiotic in many ways. I have the truck routes for you to learn and your role at the restaurants will help you oversee this.”

 

                “Oh. I thought Mike handled that.”

 

                “Not exactly, but he assists. There are many others involved in the logistics side of the business, individuals who are not officially part of the Los Pollos team. I have … benefactors outside of the country. It goes beyond what you see here in Albuquerque and the surrounding states.”

 

                Pinkman digested the information with deadly seriousness. “Oh. Just how big does this get?”

 

                Gus smiled pleasantly, opened his arms. “Come here.” Pinkman stayed rooted to the floor. Gus waited a beat as studied him closely, dropping his arms to his sides. “Let’s get dinner under way and we will talk when we sit. Why don’t you open the wine so it can breathe before dinner.”

 

                The boy jumped at the chance. “Right on.” He started to search through the cutlery drawers enthusiastically. “Where’s the bottle opener?” Gus pointed to the end of the counter on the other side of the stove where an elaborate corkscrew was mounted on a birch stand.

 

                “That’s fancy,” Pinkman commented as he brought the bottle over. Gus was reaching in a bottom cupboard for a salad bowl and he watched as the boy set the wine under the screw head with hands that were still shaking, wiping his palms quickly down his robe before lining the bottle up. Gus came closer to him, brushed fingers across the nape of Pinkman’s neck comfortingly. The boy shivered, turning to him with wide eyes.

 

                “Are you okay?”

 

                “I’m _fine_ ,” he insisted. Pinkman reached into the robe’s drooping pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes, shaking it twice until one popped out through the torn opening. He put the end to his mouth and pulled it out of the pack. “Gonna need a smoke, though, after the shenanigans upstairs.” When he looked at Gus again, there was a challenge there. “You got a light?”

 

                Gus took the cigarette out of the boy’s mouth. “No.” He bent his head to capture those lips in his own. The boy didn’t move as Gus kissed him more forcefully, but his body still shook. Gus pressed his hand to the boy’s neck again, pushed his head closer so that Gus could force his mouth wider. Pinkman opened up as commanded, his tongue as malleable as Gus’s was determined. Gus slid his hands under the robe, delighting in the heat that was still emanating from the boy’s backside. He gouged his fingers into sanguine flesh, pressed Pinkman flush to his body, his stiffening cock ready to grind into the boy’s crotch all over again. Gus was about to push the young man away when he felt something solid bump into his hand. Instantly, Pinkman stepped back.

 

                “What’s in your pocket?” he demanded. Pinkman gaped at him for a beat before averting his eyes.

 

                “It’s just my phone.”

 

                This annoyed Gus. “You don’t need that here. Your time is mine when you step through that door. Your attention belongs on me. Do you understand?”

 

                Pinkman’s eyes widened. “Look, my girl’s kid is sick, okay? I told her to call me if she needed anything. For, like, an emergency or something. You’re really gonna have a problem with that? I got it set so it goes straight to voicemail.”

 

                The mention of the girl did nothing to lessen Gus’s agitation. “Fine. Why don’t you start prepping the vegetables?”

 

                The boy still hadn’t moved. “Little chilly for a salad, don’t you think? You plan on turning up the heat soon? It’s starting to get cold at night.”

 

                Gus took a deep breath. “Alright, then, I have some chicken soup I made earlier in the week. We can have that. There’s homemade bread in the basket. The bread knife is in the cutlery block. Go and slice it for dinner while I heat up the soup.”

 

                Pinkman grabbed his discarded cigarette and tucked it back in his mouth. “Nah, I’m going outside on your deck for a smoke. I told you, I need it. I think I deserve one after what you got out of me earlier. Give me a minute to myself, okay? Stop being such a hard-on.” He had turned on the stove until one of the rings burned red, then bent down to hold the cigarette to it until the tip ignited. He sucked in a few times, the smoke easing out of the sides of his mouth. Pinkman slapped a hand to Gus’s shoulder. “I meant, stop _getting_ a hard-on. Jesus. You sure you’re not on Viagra? I’ll get the bread when I come back in.”

 

                Gus watched him leave the kitchen, heard the track of the glass door slide back. The boy’s rotating moods were disconcerting. He made a change in his plans as he walked back to the fridge.

 

******

 

                Jesse pulled open the sliding door and stepped outside into the twilight of the evening. He felt shaky and ill, his nerves twisting him up so that it was hard to think. The chirping of crickets took him back to the second invite to Gus’s home – the night Gus had given him his proposition. It didn’t feel like that long ago and yet so much had happened since then. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Gus wasn’t staring at him from behind the glass then pulled out his phone. It was starting to feel like Gus was watching him all the time now. Having a camera in the bedroom certainly emphasized that feeling and Jesse’s skin had crawled at the sight of it. The way the man studied every move Jesse made was unnerving, like a spotlight following him around a stage.

 

                After punching in the number, he typed out a quick text message and then exhaled the smoke from his cigarette. Jesse hit the send button and snapped the phone closed, hoping that Badger wasn’t too stoned to do the job. He felt a twinge of guilt at the thought, recalling Badger’s and Pete’s attempt at sobriety before Jesse had gone and screwed up his friends’ chances with a meth binge. God, he was a piece of shit. He rubbed the edge of the phone across his bottom lip, feeling phantom stings from the crop make their way down his legs.

 

                “Well, hello there.”

 

                Jesse startled so badly his cigarette almost dropped from his mouth. He gawked at the spot where the voice had come from. A pair of eyes peered at him over the fence.

 

                “Uh, hello?”

 

                The eyes disappeared for a moment and there was the groaning sound of something heavy being dragged along concrete. When they came back the rest of the face was in view. Jesse thought the man looked familiar but couldn’t place from where.

 

                “Don’t you look lovely? Gus might have a thing for rough trade, but he always picks the prettiest ones.”

 

                “What?” Jesse felt at sea, still not placing the man. “What the hell does that mean?”

 

                “Does he only get you on weekends, sweetheart? And are you available for parties? I’ll pay you double whatever Gus is paying you.”

 

                “Look, dickwad, I don’t know who the fuck you think you’re talking to, but you got the wrong idea.”

 

                The man smirked cruelly. “Oh, I don’t know about that. Gustavo doesn’t usually go running in the park with just anyone. You must be special.” Ice clinked against glass as the man took a sip from his tumbler.

 

                Park Fucker. Jesse’s teeth scraped together as he worked his jaw to the side. He did not need this right now. He sucked on his cigarette angrily, blew the smoke out in Creepy Neighbor’s direction. “I work for Mr. Fring, but not like that. I’m a key figure in his restaurant chain, if you must know. Los Pollos Hermanos? Ever heard of them?”

 

                “Oh, you’re one of the chickens. Nice legs, by the way.”

 

                Just then, the glass door opened and Gus stepped out. “Jerry, leave him alone. Jesse, go inside.”

 

                “Gustavo! I was just having a nice little chat with Jesse. I wonder, just what kind of work is it that he does for you?”

 

                “Hey, what’s your fucking problem, douchebag? I happen to be – ”

 

                But Gus grabbed him by the shoulders and turned Jesse back towards the house. “I said that’s enough, Jerry.” They all heard a woman calling the man’s name from the other side of the fence. “Your wife is waiting. Now go.”

 

                “Jesus, Gus, tell your boy to remove that stick from your ass. Preferably with his teeth. I’ll see you gentlemen around.”

 

                Gus dragged him back into the house as Jesse took another few, nervous puffs on his cigarette before he’d have to put it out. The door banged on its track and then Gus was in front of him, straightening Jesse’s robe and tying the sash at his waist a little tighter. “Stay inside now. Dinner is on the table.”

 

                But Jesse’s curiosity was spiked. “Hey, why didn’t you tell me that was your neighbor cruising us in the park? And what parties is he talking about? Have you met up with that closet case, like, socially?”

 

                Gus threw up his hands to cease the discussion. “Enough. He thinks he knows who I am because he’s seen a few things. But he is a fool. When his wife is out of town, he has orgies of men over there, tries to shock me because I can see into his yard. I told you, he is an animal, and no one for us to be concerned with. Now, come into the kitchen.”

 

                Jesse followed behind him, his cigarette tucked back into this mouth. He rubbed a palm over his pocket to make sure his phone was still there before sitting down at the table. Gus had the soup and bread served and waiting, a tub of butter by his plate, but he came back with an ashtray and set it down by Jesse.

 

                “Please put that out. It smells like a hotel in here now.” Gus sat next to Jesse and grabbed his napkin, flaring it out with an emphatic snap to spread over his lap. He was bothered and Jesse realized he’d need to calm Gus down.

 

                “Sorry,” he said as he crushed the butt in the ceramic. “I didn’t mean for you to get all worked up. The guy just started talking to me.”

 

                “Next time, excuse yourself politely,” Gus replied, his posture stiff. Jesse noticed the bottle was already on the table and tingles ran through him, making his heart race. He could feel his palms sweat and he clutched at his thighs to keep them steady.

 

                “Well, why don’t you let me make a toast? The wine should be … aired out, right? Let’s forget about that guy and have – have a nice time.”

 

                Gus darted a look at Jesse as he swallowed his soup. “That would be very gracious of you.” He set down his spoon and lifted the bottle, making a grand show of pouring for them both. Gus filled only a quarter of Jesse’s glass, rolling the bottle expertly to cut off the drip, and Jesse smiled as he held it up, waiting for Gus to raise his as well.

 

                “Thanks. I just wanted to say again that I, you know, appreciate what you did for me. I mean, the job _interview_ wasn’t so hot, but … it was still really decent of you to do this. And I want you to know that even though things went sour with Mr. White, I understand that it could have easily been me. You gave me a second chance instead of icing me, when I was in a fucked up place. So thanks for that. And for not killing Mr. White.”

 

                The look that Gus gave him was not a charmed one but he knocked his glass to Jesse’s, cradling the wine in his fingers. Gus seemed to be waiting for Jesse to go first and so he took a swig, hoping he wouldn’t choke on it. “Why do you call him that?” Gus asked, and for a moment Jesse didn’t know whom he was referring to.

 

                “Who, Mr. White? I don’t know. He was my teacher. It’s a hard habit to break.”

 

                “But you are no longer his student and haven’t been for some time. He was your _partner._ That suggests equals. Walter did not speak to you with respect, why do you insist on giving it to him? You let him treat you like a child. If you want to be thought of as a man, you must act like one. You command respect. You do not beg for it.”

 

                Jesse froze, his glass part way to his mouth. Gus still hadn’t taken a sip. He needed to get Gus in a better mood fast. “Well, it’s kind of a moot point now, isn’t it? You don’t want me seeing the guy anyway and I sure as shit don’t have any objections. What does it matter what I call him?” He downed some more wine, the taste bitter on his tongue.

 

                “Do not call him that in my house,” Gus insisted. He finally sipped from his glass but Jesse couldn’t tell if he liked it or not. “Call him anything else, but not that.”

 

                “Okay, fine. I’ll call him _Señor_ Asshole. Is that better?”

 

                Gus didn’t crack a smile, only raised an eyebrow. “In my country, a man like Walter would be known as a _yeta_.”

 

                “A yeti? What is that, like Bigfoot?”

 

                “No, _yeta._ It is a word we use for someone who brings bad luck.” Jesse took another healthy sip from the glass and furtively glanced at the digital clock on the stovetop. He still had eight minutes, and he was growing uneasy with the subject matter.

 

                “Well, I’ll call him whatever you want, okay? Hey, this soup is pretty awesome. It’s almost as good as my aunt’s. You should try it next time with some bacon in it.”

 

                “Your aunt?” Gus looked up with interest from his bowl. “Does she cook for you often?”

 

                “Um, well, no, not anymore. She died about four years ago. I live in her old house.”

 

                Gus ripped off a piece of bread before scanning his face. “Yes, I know about the house. We know from Goodman how you purchased it back from your parents after they renovated it quite extensively. At quite a reduced price than they were asking for.”

 

                “Whatever, she gave the house to me. They started it when they kicked me out.”

 

                “I see.” Gus kept his gaze on Jesse while dipping his bread in the broth. “So, I guess the aunt was someone positive in your life? If she willed her house to you. How did she die?” he asked before putting the bread in his mouth.

 

                Jesse let out a deep sigh that came up from his gut. “Lung cancer.” He bit off a chunk of the bread, as well.

 

                “I see.”

 

                “Yeah, well you don’t, okay? Don’t say it like you know. I mean, it was messed up watching her go. Listening to her … Ginny was the only one who was ever in my corner, right? My mom and dad were pissed when she said she wanted me to stay there after she was gone. But I took care of that house, just like I took care of her – paid the bills, mowed the lawn, all that shit, and things only got fucked up because Mr. Whi –” Gus flashed deadly eyes at him. “I mean … _Walt –_ made us cook in the basement, and then we got jacked by crazy-ass Tuco. I _told_ him I don’t shit where I eat, but the dude never listened to me.”

 

                Gus didn’t comment but resumed eating. He took another sip of the wine, savored it as he closed his eyes and sniffed at the glass. “The first time I saw the two of you at my restaurant, I stood him up. You had left earlier; it was quite obvious you were high. Walter came back the next night and stayed for hours until he finally realized that I was the one he had come to meet. When I approached him, he quickly dropped any pretense of being a customer and tried to make a case for his product, insisted that I should give him another chance. I told him that I wouldn’t do business with him because of you.” Gus was back to studying him like a hawk. “I said that he made poor choices; that you can never trust a drug addict. And do you know what he said to me?”

 

                A tiny, hopeful flame flickered in Jesse. “No,” he answered softly.

 

                “He told me that you do as he says.” He held Jesse’s gaze, the edge of his lip curling into a smug smile. “Did you see yourself as his minion? Ready to jump when he whistled? To follow behind him everywhere like his shadow? Perhaps Walter never understood you. It did not take much time at all for you to prove him wrong, did it?”

 

                Jesse slowly shook his head. “Nah. It wasn’t like that,” he said, stilling his expression to one of blankness. He was used to Mr. White saying things to hurt him. Why would he be different with anyone else? Walter’s face appeared in his mind again, pleading to Gus. _You kill Jesse, you don’t have me._ Grabbing his glass by the stem, he took a deep gulp of his wine.

 

                “You swallow too fast. That is not the proper way. You need to pay attention to the experience. Discover its _umami.”_ Gus lifted the bottle and poured some more into both of their glasses and Jesse took another surreptitious glance at the time. Under the table, he rubbed the phone in his hand, wondering if he’d have to attempt another covert call to Badger. “Try again,” Gus said suddenly, staring at him intently. “This is too fine a wine to be guzzled.”

 

                But Jesse didn’t want to repeat the gesture, worried that Gus would zero in on any tremors in his hands. “I’m good for now. Don’t want to push it.” He stared down at his bowl, picked up his spoon again. “So you like it, then?”

 

                “I do. You never did explain to me how you came to make such a fine selection. This almost makes me homesick.”

 

                Jesse played with his spoon, swirling it around the shallow pool of his dinner. “Oh, well, I just asked the guy at the wine shop.” He glanced up nervously to check Gus’s expression before going back to his food. “I – I told him where you were from. I thought that might make a difference. In figuring out what you liked.” He swept his eyes over Gus again. “I didn’t say who or anything, obviously.”

 

                Gus nodded approvingly. “I suppose you got lucky with your steward. Very good for us.”

 

                A jangled cry rang out from the other room, disrupting the quiet, and Jesse promptly dropped his spoon against the china, splashing soup to the table. “Jesus, that was loud,” he said, feeling transparent as he dabbed at the table with his napkin.

 

                The phone’s second ring got Gus to stand up. “Excuse me a moment. I’ll take it in my office.” As soon as Gus turned his back, Jesse closed his eyes, never so happy that Gus didn’t have an extension in his kitchen. Gus exited the room and instantly Jesse’s hand was diving into his underwear, pulling back the band-aid above his prick that held the vial to his skin. As delicately as he could, he picked up his napkin and wrapped it to the stem of Gus’s wine glass, sliding it closer. He held his breath for what seemed like a minute while he listened to Gus answering the phone. There was the deep resonance of Gus talking. Jesse held the vial over the glass with shaking hands, worried that he wouldn’t be able to pry it apart. The flesh of his fingers were slimy with sweat, but he got it open and watched with growing excitement as the white powder sprinkled down into purple, tapping the two halves together to make sure it was emptied. Jesse could hear the flecks of annoyance in Gus’s speech even from two rooms away and grabbed the napkin again to take hold of Gus’s spoon as he stuffed the vial’s carcass in his pocket. He dipped the handle into the wine to stir it, but his hand shook so bad the silver clattered against the glass. Jesse used the other one to hold the glass still, moved the spoon clockwise until he could see the white dissolve. His heart was beating so loudly it made his head ache. He felt like all the blood had drained from his face and body and was pooling at his feet, but he could hear Gus finishing up the conversation, probably begging off by promising that he would donate to the Firemen’s Ball another time. Jesse had been very specific with Badger. There was one glob of powder that didn’t want to fade into the liquid and Jesse had to press it against the glass to pop it, sloshed the wine around to clear the residue away. He heard a door close and then the sound of footsteps.

 

                Wiping the spoon’s handle with the napkin, he placed it with the rest of Gus’s setting. The napkin was dropped in his lap and for a fraction of a second Jesse worried about the residue of ricin left on the cotton, as if it might seep through the robe and into his skin, absorb through his pores to show up in his bloodstream. He could hear Gus getting closer and suddenly realized that he hadn’t moved the glass back; that it was next to his soup bowl. With a grimace, he slid the glass to its original spot, jerking his arm back to drop his hand in his lap just as Gus walked through the archway. The clang of metal on tile made him jump in his seat as his spoon clattered to the floor.

 

                Gus strode up to the table as Jesse nervously picked up the utensil. “Uh, sorry. Yo, like, I’m such a spaz, man. I mean, seriously, what a klutz,” he said with a weak laugh. “I think it’s this robe. The sleeves are like, too flowy and shit.” He stood up in a hurry. “Um, gonna drop this in the sink and get another spoon, if you don’t mind. You – you want anything?”

 

                Gus shook his head, picked up a piece of bread and began to butter it. Jesse hustled to the sink and discarded his contaminated silverware, started pulling out drawers randomly looking for a replacement.

 

                “Down at this end, under the microwave,” Gus said casually. Jesse pulled out another and came back to the table, his steps feeling foreign, like they were barely on the ground.

 

                “Anything important you need to deal with? I can find something to do if you got business or whatever. Yo, I’ll get the dishes since you got dinner, alright?” Jesse couldn’t look Gus in the face, he knew he’d get made, so instead tried to focus on Gus’s shoulder or his hands as he spoke.

 

                “Just another charity. They call me often. Although I am not sure the man on the phone quite understood what he was selling.” Jesse could feel those eyes boring into him, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Are you well?”

 

                Jesse finally raised his eyes, reared his head back in confusion. “What? Why? What do you mean?”

 

                “You look pale. Do you need some water?”

 

                “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m fine.” He darted a look to the ceiling. “Maybe it’s just the lighting in here.” He swirled his soup around some more. “Um, you know, I’m not really that hungry anymore. I think I’m done.”

 

                “At least finish your wine,” Gus said, and Jesse thought he could detect the slightest menace in his tone. He was afraid to pick up the glass. He hadn’t yet gained control of his nerves; in fact, they were worse.

 

                “How about another toast?” Jesse said, the words just randomly flowing out of him.

 

                Gus arched a perfect eyebrow. “A toast to what?”

 

                “A toast to … family.” His eyes dropped to his glass, willing his hands steady.

 

                It was quiet for a beat. When Jesse risked another glance, he was met with bafflement. “ _Family_? Why family?” Gus asked harshly. “It sounds like they do not think much of you.”

 

                “Yeah, but … I mean, we were talking about my aunt, and like, I know you lost your brother and your mom. I just meant, like, family we lost. The people who are still important to us even though they’re not around, that’s all I was saying. I – I bet you miss your girls, too, being all the way out here, while they live in another country. That’s got to be rough.”

 

                Gus continued to stare and Jesse was sure that he had flop sweat running down his face. He could barely swallow, his throat was huge with the golf ball firmly entrenched there. “I do miss them,” Gus said suddenly. He pushed his bowl away a few spaces, folded his hands to rest on the table. “I see Remedios every year, usually, although we haven’t vacationed together in a while. With … things the way they’ve been here, I could not afford to make time for her.”

 

                “Oh, that’s cool. Is she the one with the kid?”

 

                For a moment, Gus seemed confused. “Excuse me?”

 

                “Your grandson? Is she the mother?”

 

                His expression brightened. “Oh, of course. Yes, she is.” Gus crossed his arms so that he clasped each elbow, his gaze off of Jesse finally but now staring at a spot on the tablecloth. “She was always my favorite, Remedios. Exceptionally gifted and vivacious since she was a little girl. You are not supposed to show favoritism with your children, of course, but when there is a natural chemistry between you and your first born, when to see their face fills you with so much happiness, and then to not have the same experience with the next one – you cannot help but to respond to them differently, even if you have them both in your heart.”

 

                “Yeah, I get that,” Jesse said, intimately aware of its truth.

 

                “But Victoria … she liked to challenge me from the start. She was a troublemaker. Like … like her uncle.” His eyes ran back to Jesse’s face. “You are a little like her, too.” Gus smiled in his creepy way. “I always had to keep an eye on her, as well, watch out for what she might get up to.”

 

                “I thought you said I reminded you of … of the boyfriend.”

 

                “Yes, I did.” Gus laughed as if the thought had just occurred to him. “Max and Victoria. I can see them both in you.”

 

                Jesse picked up his wine and took another gulp, the burn in his throat trailing down through his chest. The heat fueled his determination. “She’s the reporter, right? What’s her book going to be about?”

 

                Gus sighed, a sound filled with resignation. He still hadn’t picked up his wine and Jesse was getting increasingly frustrated. “I am afraid she does not believe me when I explain to her what I did while Pinochet was in power. There have been a lot of arguments between us. Of course, I do not divulge the truth, but that is for her protection more so than mine. I do not like her poking into the country’s past. There are still dangerous people there, but she is willful. It has … put a strain on our relationship. She listened to her mother too much. Victoria has been poisoned by the woman’s lies.”

 

                The innuendo was not lost on Jesse. He raised his glass in another attempt to get Gus to imbibe. “Well, to Victoria, then. To all us troublemakers. Hey, how am I supposed to find the _edamame_ of this wine? That doesn’t even make sense.”

 

                The glass stayed untouched. Gus did not appear to be listening to him, but continued with his train of thought. “But of course, there is a major difference between the two of you,” he added, his voice deeper and heavily inflected with his accent.

 

                “Uh, I would think so,” Jesse said, with a nod down to his lap.

 

                “No, what I mean is that Victoria – while she may be self-righteous, even confrontational to a fault, this is because she has passion for doing good in the world, to expose its hypocrisy. She is a good person.”

 

                Jesse grew still, finally locked eyes with Gus.

 

                “But you – well, you are a degenerate. A junkie. A drug dealer and a killer. You were _never_ a good person, were you, Jesse?”

 

                “Takes one to know one,” Jesse quipped, his voice graveled. He set his glass down on the table.

 

                The condescension dripped from Gus’s smile. “Yes. We are bad men, you and I. But we know that. We do not pretend, like Walter. We know who we are.”

 

                Gus’s absolute confidence in his pronouncements set Jesse off. “You don’t know me,” he snarled. “You don’t know anything about me.”

 

                A hand slid across Jesse’s thigh, snaked to the inside of it possessively. “Oh, but I do. I know you better than you know yourself, Jesse,” Gus asserted. “And I know your body, the entire breadth of it. It speaks to me. Tells me what it wants.” The hand rubbed over his prick.

 

                Jesse smacked it away. “That don’t mean jack. Just ‘cause you can milk my balls you think you got something on me? Big whoop. Sex is sex. Hell, you should see some of the meth whores I’ve dropped loads on, all over their nasty-ass teeth, if I had to. You’re nothing special where my dick is concerned.”

 

                He had expected to ignite the man’s temper, but instead, Gus’s shit-eating grin spread wide across his face. The effect was terrifying. “Tell me,” Gus began, and then hesitated for a dramatic moment, his expression caught in a thought. “Back when you first met Mike – your girlfriend’s corpse waiting to be dealt with. Where were you as she passed away?” Eyebrows shot up to his forehead. “Had you left her? Perhaps to go to the store?”

 

                “ _No_.” Jesse’s head had started to pound from trying to mentally will Gus into drinking his fucking wine, and the turn in the conversation only exacerbated the pressure, leaving a burning in his eyes as he stared Gus down. The mention of Jane threw him, but he wasn’t about to let Gus speak ill of her.

 

                “So you were there but … you did nothing?”

 

                “I was asleep.” The soup roiled in his stomach. Jesse felt sick, but it was a sickness that lived in him, one that grew more diseased with every transgression. It had its own pulse, like something alive, staring into Jesse’s soul with black holes for eyes. Jesse remembered the way Jane smelled, the softness of her skin, the way her breath tickled the back of his neck as he faded to sleep but Gus’s self-satisfied expression could only conjure an image of her pale, dead face. He thought about what Gus had done to him upstairs, what Jesse had enjoyed, even encouraged, and his hatred for himself swelled larger than his body could contain.

 

                “Asleep? Or passed out in a stupor?” Gus’s smile broadened and Jesse wanted to stab him in the throat. “And now, there is a new one. A young mother, no less. Where did you meet her, I wonder?” Jesse stayed silent, his glare white hot, and Gus raised a supercilious finger in the air. “Oh, yes, she goes to the same meetings as you. Another junkie. You seem to have a type when it comes to women. What will you do to this one, do you think? Or to her son? Do you imagine yourself to be a good role model to the boy?”

 

                “Fuck you, Gus. They’re none of your fucking business.”

 

                Gus had scraped up the last of his soup, raised the spoon part way to his mouth. “ _Everything_ you do is my business now,” he said gravely. He slurped from his spoon and dropped it with a clatter, grabbing his napkin to wipe his mouth. “You must decide, Jesse. Are you a bad _man_? Or just a scared little boy? One who avoids the truth and runs to whatever makes him feel good, ruining the people around him in the process?”

 

                “I’m a bad man,” Jesse answered through clenched teeth, feeling ice cold.

 

                “Then sometimes it is better to be alone. You and I, we are on the outside looking in, Jesse. You will never be like them.”

 

                “You were right, I did steal meth from you,” he said suddenly. “I probably skimmed close to four pounds of blue, right under your nose. I didn’t even sell the stuff, just gave it away,” he rasped.

 

                “Yes, you did.” At long last, Gus picked up his wine and Jesse felt his heart skip a beat. “I think you were right, as well. You shouldn’t push this.” And then Gus grabbed Jesse’s glass and swallowed what wine was left in one gulp. Jesse’s mouth dropped open in surprise but then Gus stood up and marched to the sink, and the world tilted while Jesse watched in complete horror as Gus slowly poured the poisoned wine down the drain. Gus turned on the faucet, methodically rinsed both glasses and then placed them upside down in the dishwasher and closed its door. He wiped his hands on a towel. With slow steps, he strode back to the table and pulled a stunned Jesse out of his chair.

 

                “We are going downstairs,” he said.

 

                “Why … why did you do that?” Jesse protested, his voice barely above a whisper. “You said you liked it, that I – I did good.” The smell of the wine swarmed around him, the room still rocking to and fro. Mr. White was going to kill him.

 

                Gus smiled, but this time it was resigned, almost sad. “I am a rich man, Jesse. I can always buy more.” He started to drag Jesse out of the kitchen but Jesse dug in his heels before they got halfway.

 

                “No. I’m not going down there.” Gus’s features turned malevolent and his hold tightened around Jesse’s wrist, but Jesse wouldn’t shut up, feeling reckless and insane. “You already did plenty to me tonight.”

 

                “Obviously, not enough,” Gus said threateningly. “Now you will come with me.” He tugged at Jesse’s wrist again, but Jesse pulled back, wrenched his arm out of Gus’s hold.

 

                “I said no!” In an instant, Jesse felt a hand close around his throat, felt his back smashed into the steel door of the fridge, his head bouncing painfully against it. His feet were off the ground, his toes scrambling for earth, and Jesse grabbed at Gus’s forearms in a panic.

 

                “You do not say no to me, ever. You do as I say, or others will pay for your insolence. Now you will walk downstairs and I will not hear another word from you.”

 

                “Okay! Okay! I’ll do it!” Jesse’s chest burned as he gasped for breath. He was dropped unceremoniously to the floor and Jesse’s knees crumpled under his weight. He felt a kick to his thigh, and as he got up on his knees, a foot pushed against his ass, knocking him to the floor again.

 

                “Get up. Move! Did you think that I brought you here to pleasure you? That you can simply bat your eyelashes at me and I will go easy on you?  _No seas_ _tonto_. You are here to learn discipline. You are complacent, weak. Only I know how to handle you. I will tear you apart and put you back together and you will _thank me_ when I am done.”

 

                Jesse flew through the hall with Gus at his feet, hearing the grand laugh of the universe ring in his ears once again.

 

*******

 

 

                The stretch in his mouth was starting to make his jaw ache. He moved his head side to side to ease the tension, but it only created friction on the back of his head, pinching skin and his growing hair under the leather buckle. He tilted his head forward to stare in the mirror again, his terror stringing into impatience.

 

                Jesse couldn’t move his arms. He couldn’t move much of anything. He was ensnared, wrapped in rope so completely that his limbs were immobile. Scanning the bar above him to eye what hung there, Jesse wondered just what Gus had planned. He couldn’t imagine anything good in his current predicament. In the mirror, he could see the thick rope doubled up in parallel lines across his chest, framing his nipples. There were more lines around his biceps, and lower, to his elbow, and he could feel them all connected behind him, but in what configuration he couldn’t tell. Gus had spent what felt like a half hour tying them back there, stopping every few minutes to make another knot, then slipping the nooses up his arms. He groaned in aggravation and the pressure of it pushed saliva to the sides of his gag. How long was Gus going to leave him down here?

 

                However his arms had been strapped together, they’d somehow been connected to his ankles. Jesse could see the ropes above and below his knees, binding his legs in half before they’d been tied off to the end of the bench, and somewhere behind him each ankle was partnered to a wrist. He could feel that much when he tried to wriggle them. His legs were spread just enough, but Gus had turned the bench sideways before propping him on it, so that his body knelt perpendicular to its length, and then hooked an attachment behind it so that his feet could rest on something solid. The t-bar held him up by the rope that had been rigged around his shoulders, but Gus had made him lean back first, far enough to clasp all the elements together. The burn in his stomach muscles trailed down to the pressure in his groin, the rubbery contraption Gus had slid over his cock and around his testicles drawing attention to the continuous beating pulse in his erection. Fuck Gus. He was getting tired of having his body manipulated. And his one chance to get out of it had disappeared down the drain.

 

                He groaned against the ballgag again, long and loud, hoping that Gus would get back soon. He’d rather something painful be happening than to be stuck in this limbo, where he could only replay that moment over and over, the wine pouring from the glass like blood. At least the discomfort of his current state could distract him from his all-encompassing misery, and the one question blaring into his brain like the sub-woofers he used to sit in front of – how the hell did Gus know?

 

                And if he had even the slightest suspicion that Jesse had been about to poison him, what did that mean for Jesse now? He couldn’t stand waiting to find out.

 

                Minutes went by as Jesse struggled in his binds, and finally he heard the thud of footfalls coming down the steps to the gym. He almost wept. Whatever Gus was going to do to him, Jesse would deal with it. He’d suffer through and not make a sound. He thought about what Gus had said to him. Jesse already knew he was the bad man, had known it for a while. There was no more little boy left. The road he’d been on had let him to this. Jesse deserved whatever came next.

 

                The door opened and Gus came into view. He stood in front of Jesse, blocking the mirror, the camcorder from upstairs detached from its tripod and now in Gus’s hand.

 

                “Well,” Gus asked. “Are you ready to begin?”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cricket - Well, what a way to spend a rainy day! Thanks for giving the fic a chance. Gus's mind can be a terrifying place to be, and I can't say it's going to get any less so, but he is a fascinating figure. Looks like you got your wish in this chapter.
> 
> Spoopy - my work here is done ... except there's more! The next chapter is pretty non-stop intense.  
> And thanks to Noodles and jui on the notes!


	24. The Box

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter if you have an aversion to needles. Also, a reminder that Gus is dangerous and doesn't always play by the rules.

 

_Don’t look at him. You look at me._

 

                Gus stepped into the room dressed in his orange, silk _karategi_ and smiled. Pinkman was there waiting, of course, but the exquisite pleasure of being able to walk through a door and have the boy strung up and at his complete mercy swept through Gus with a ferocity that threatened to unsettle him. A dozen memories came to him at once, and he closed his eyes and breathed in slowly in an effort to scatter them. He had no cause to dwell in the past. He had Pinkman now.

 

                He pulled the tv cart sitting in the corner and rolled it up behind Pinkman, inspecting his rope work as he walked out in front of him. Holding up the camera from upstairs, he ran his gaze up and down the boy’s body, pleased with the outcome. “Well. Are you ready to begin?” he said, feeling a strong mix of excitement and curiosity. Gus expected vociferous protests, muffled though they may be, but Pinkman was quiet; merely turned his head away to stare off at nothing. It both thrilled and incensed him, to see the boy maintain his fight even in a token rejection. Gus appreciated a challenge, after all, but there was something elusive in Pinkman that remained out of his grasp, a sinewy thread of courage that stitched through the boy’s fear.

 

                Something had gone on at dinner, that much was clear, but Gus wasn’t sure of the source. The gift of the wine had seemed simultaneously suspicious yet endearing. He had hoped for it to be proof of the latter but stayed firmly entrenched in the former. Pinkman had acted shirty since he’d arrived, but Gus also couldn’t imagine the boy trying to poison him after being a witness to Eladio’s, and his capos’, demise. It seemed reckless even for him, and once again, Gus wondered if Walter was somehow involved, encouraging Pinkman from the shadows. There had been no communication between the two that he knew of, but the thought continued to plague Gus. He needed to make sure that bond had been cleanly amputated.

 

                He came up close to the boy and stroked a soft cheek. Pinkman’s glare intensified but remained fixed on the wall at their side. Gus gripped the boy’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, steering him back to force a meeting of the eyes. The hatred that smoldered there reminded Gus of the hundreds of stares that he’d peered in from a lifetime ago, all saying the same thing. But Gustavo never let it deter him then, and he wouldn’t now. It wasn’t enough to simply have the boy’s body. He wanted all of him.

 

                “I want you to see something,” he told Pinkman. “Something about you.” There was confusion in the piercing blue of his stare until Gus peeled back the LCD panel on the camcorder and turned it for Pinkman to see. He sped some of the film backwards, watching with the boy as their counterparts jumped and flipped; the velocity of their bodies in tandem propulsion a comical exaggeration. A button was pressed and the image froze on a close-up of Pinkman’s face, the black bar across his eyes. Gus restarted it and the film played back at regular speed. He turned up the volume so they could hear the heavy breaths ending in kittenish whines, as together they viewed Pinkman’s mouth open to a rapturous groan.

 

                “This is you. The real you, Jesse. When everything is stripped away, your swagger and defiance discarded in the face of pleasure, this is what you become. You crave it, the need to be seen. To be touched. Look at your desire, naked and raw. Nothing to hold you back in this moment, just you, responding honestly to what you want – this is who you are. And it is stunning.” The lens zoomed in so that the small panel was filled with only the boy’s mouth and nose a moment before Gus’s mouth smashed down on swollen lips, Pinkman kissing him back just as hungrily. He turned to his guest with a faint smile and ran a thumbnail along the boy’s collarbone. “Do you want to see more?”

 

                 Pinkman shook his head then cast his eyes to the floor, the flush of shame turning his skin tone a glorious hue of pink. Gus went back to the television and set the camcorder on its belly, began to connect its cables. The sound came on before the image filled the screen, Pinkman’s euphonic notes of approval as he was being roundly fucked booming through the room. Gus left the volume up high. The video played before them, the camera zeroed in on Pinkman always, his body being jostled with Gus’s thrusts while the bottom of a foot caught a sunglare in the upper corner of the frame. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” the boy urged on-screen while Gus pulled an intricately carved wooden box from the lower shelf of the stand. He brought it carefully to the bench, his hands placed underneath it as though bearing a gift to a king.

 

                “We are going to do something different today,” he announced. “But I want you to understand – it is because I think that you can handle more.” The box was set down a few inches from Pinkman’s strapped leg. He stood before Pinkman, put his hands on top of the boy’s head and stroked them down the sides of his face until they cradled his chin and neck. “Jesse. I know you can do this for me. Reveal to me what you are.” He wouldn’t show any anger. Whatever the boy had done, was trying to do, it had passed. Gus was sure of it. There was the glimmering shadow of defeat in the boy’s widening eyes and Gus felt convinced that while the boy would struggle, he would ultimately succumb to Gus’s demands. Pinkman’s desire for approval was like the smell of ripe fruit in his nose and Gus wanted to feel its pulp burst in his mouth.

 

                He retrieved more tools from the crowded slats of the cart. The heftiest item brought about an instant reaction in the boy as soon as Gus held it up. Pinkman struggled in his ropes, started to make distressed noises behind the plastic gag. It was certainly a daunting sight, Gus agreed. The dildo he had chosen for this session was similar to the previous incarnation in color and substance, but this replica was more lifelike, its black veins sculpted in a vivid bas relief. It was not only larger and thicker but attached to a pronged metal base.

 

                “Calm down,” he soothed gently. “You need to reserve your energy.” But the boy had pulled his body as far back as the rope would allow, his head bent back as the moans from the television escalated. Gus stepped up close to the boy’s side, pressed a hand to the back of his skull and geared him upward until he was facing the monitor again. The boy tried to look away but Gus increased the pressure to keep him in place. “Look at yourself. Do _not_ close your eyes.” They both listened as tv Pinkman begged to be filled with Gus’s cock. “Do you hear yourself?” Pinkman’s guttural reply suggested something profane.

 

                “Lean back just a bit,” Gus instructed. “Yes, like that.” He capped the boy’s knees with his palms and spread them out, the motion pulling the boy’s arms back tighter. There was a small pouch next to the box and Gus loosened its mouth, reaching in for a handful of metal office clips. Dropping them in a pile between the boy’s legs, he pinched the boy’s scrotum between his fingers, waited for the flinch – the boy jerked his harnessed body – and then slapped his face. Pinkman appeared shocked for a moment, but then Gus slapped at his chest. He pinched a nipple until the skin around it reddened, brought another smack down on scrotal tissue, evoking a sharp scream behind the gag. “I need to stimulate you a bit,” he explained, his tone perfunctory. “It will be better for you.” He slapped at more flesh, concentrating on tender parts of the boy’s body. Pinkman reacted physically to every hit but he had grown quiet again, his head down.

 

                As soon as Gus rolled up skin in between the boy’s testicles and attached one of the bulldog clips, the response was instant. Pinkman bucked and screeched, thrashing against his binds, and Gus had to grab at his waist to try and steady him. “ _Ja!_ Do not move. You will simply have to deal with this. Do as I have told you before.” Gus went back to the task of adding more clips, and he worked quietly and quickly. The boy’s scrotum was soon a mass of metal, the line of fat silver bodies making their way up to the frenulum of the boy’s prick. He added more to the nipples, to the underside of thighs; kneeled down to use them to gather the skin around the boy’s anus, pulling open the jaws as he plucked at more flesh. By the time he was done, the boy was glinting under the lights. He would remember to try them on the tongue the next time.

 

                Gus moved out of the way of Pinkman’s reflection in the glass so they could both see him, the action on the video still broadcasting Pinkman’s expressions and sounds as he was turned over onto his knees. The Pinkman in front of him was making shuddering moans in his throat and Gus rubbed across the boy’s head to soothe him. “Make sure you breathe,” he said comfortingly. “We don’t want you passing out.” He reached for the dildo and then a tube from the cart, his movements economical as he flipped the cap on one and clamped the other to the bench, sliding it forward. The boy’s thighs shook, but as Gus scanned the rest of him, he saw that all of Pinkman was trembling and he placed a reassuring hand on the boy’s belly. “Not too much more,” he said as he lubed up the dildo generously. One hand was secured behind the boy’s ass, pushing him forward, as Gus lined up the phallus’s head. He slicked it back and forth across the boy’s entrance before guiding him down, forcing the penetration. There were more high-pitched objections, but Gus wrapped arms around the boy’s thighs and continued to lower him onto the shaft, aroused by the way boy’s body swallowed it up with steady and incremental progression. There was another compromised screech as Gus got the boy down to the halfway mark and he stopped, let Pinkman catch his breath as he quivered on the cock. There was already a fine sheen of sweat on the boy.

 

                “Stay like this. I am going to go away for only a moment, and then I will be back. Just breathe and watch the monitor.” He stood up and moved swiftly to the bathroom. Once inside, Gus washed his hands rigorously, and after drying them, reached into the medicine cabinet for a box of surgical gloves. He fit a pair over his hands, snapping each of them on with purpose and then extracted a few packaged swabs. He brought a bottle of iodine with him and once seated back in front of the boy, added the bottle to his collection.

 

                Gus turned back to the wooden box and flipped up the top. It had been a gift from Maximino, before they had left for Mexico, and Gus felt his heart catch in his throat as the interior was revealed, recalling every instance that they had cause to use its contents. The bottom was inlaid with a pillow of iridescent satin, tufted up to the ledge, the inside of the lid carved with an ornate design of a willow tree. Speared through the pillow rested six long, straight needles, and instantly a panicked whine began to his left. Gus ripped open one of the alcohol swabs with his teeth.

 

                “This is not as bad as it seems.” Gus assuaged the boy. “We will concentrate on the front today so you can watch me work,” he said as he wiped down the anterior of the boy’s thigh. “Use this as an aid to focus on the body, as the ascetics walking across burning coals would do to achieve clarity.” He slid the first needle free from its cushion and used the wipe to further sterilize the five inches of steel. “Now – do not move around. I need you to be very still,” he directed as Gus lined up the needle’s point to skewer the top of the flesh. “There is nothing to fear. I have done this many times. But I need you to breathe in deeply, and then as the steel goes through, slowly release it.” As soon as he broke the skin, Pinkman screamed into the gag, his leg jerking in the rope. Gus almost lost his grip, but he pressed down on the knee and continued to guide the steel through the top layer of the dermis, the end of it exiting after a few inches. The boy was shaking violently by then and Gus stroked his sides to calm him. “ _Shh-shh-shhh._ You are doing well. There are two more for this leg, before we begin on the other. I am making a secant line through the subcutaneous tissue.” Gus used his fingertip to draw across the skin where the next needle would go. “There are fewer nerves to worry about in this patch of the body, as it is nice and fleshy. By the time I get to the other thigh, you will start to feel the endorphins affect you. I am told it is very much like being in a drug-induced state, that you experience a similar euphoria. It can feel extremely powerful.” He began the second row, inserting the needle delicately but firmly, chatting to Pinkman as he worked to keep him settled.

 

                “These were designed by a gentleman I met in Chile, a German émigré,” he explained. “They are meant to be as elegant as the acupuncturist’s instrument, but the size of the gauge is closer to a hypodermic.” He wiped down the third needle. Tremors still rocked the boy’s body and Gus leaned down to kiss the tip of his prick, tongue circling and dabbing the slit, before turning his attention back to the piercing. “Remember, Jesse. You need to breathe in deeply, fill your lungs. Then slowly exhale as it goes through.” The steel penetrated through flesh as soft as butter, the lateral triptych looking like a Rothko painting once he was done. The boy shone under the track lighting with metal and sweat.

 

                He assessed the boy’s state. Pinkman’s breaths were steady but labored. He rubbed a palm up and down the boy’s stomach soothingly.

 

                “Are you thirsty? Do you need some water?” he asked. Without hesitation, Pinkman earnestly nodded his head. Gus tended to the boy, pulling out a water bottle from his varied collection on the cart’s packed shelves. He got up to unbuckle the back of the ballgag, tipping the bottle to Pinkman’s mouth as soon as it was removed. The boy drank greedily, choking a few times as Gus nursed him. Gus pulled the bottle away. “Please, _please,”_ the boy started to beg, but the ballgag was quickly stuffed back in his mouth and strapped into place. There were complaints groaned behind the intrusion, but Gus had already moved on to swabbing the left thigh. The remaining trio of needles were inserted into place, Gus in no hurry and careful to keep a watch on the boy.

 

                 When he was finished, he stroked the inside of Pinkman’s thighs, ran his fingers up across his torso, before mouthing the boy’s cock again. He pressed his hands to Pinkman’s hips, pushing him down farther on the dildo. As he suckled, Gus snapped the jaws of the bowled clip clinging to the apogee of Pinkman’s prick and pulled it away. As the numbness subsided, the boy cried out in pain. Gus unsnapped the next one, his mouth consuming the extra inch. A squeal came from Pinkman before it devolved into heavy grunts, as Gus pulled off the third clip and dropped his head lower, sucking the boy’s cock with renewed determination. Gus slid his hands over the boy’s ass, gripped hips with punishing fingers as he made the boy take more of the shaft. He brushed a hand over the metal installation that covered the boy’s scrotum and there were more animalistic grunts in response. Squeezing Pinkman’s hips again, he pushed him with more force until Gus was guiding him up and down, coaxing the boy to fuck himself on the dildo. Gus bobbed his head faster and sucked harder as the boy pogoed on the monster inside him.

 

                 As soon as the grunts started to change, became more urgent and melodic, Gus suddenly stopped. He stood up, feeling slightly woozy for a second, as if he were drunk. He fixed his gaze on Pinkman’s face and everything came back into sharp focus. The boy’s eyes were closed, his head hanging back, and this brought Gus back to the matter at hand. The boy had been up to something. But Gus would make sure that Pinkman understood his situation clearly. He went back to the television cart and fished out another long, black body. When he turned around, the boy was staring at him again, and his eyes went huge at the sight of what Gus carried. The garbled protests began in earnest.

 

                “You need to understand discipline, Jesse. That is why we are here.” He stood to the side of the boy and spoke to his reflection in the mirror. “You will do as I ask. And you will no longer defy me. This will not be tolerated. I know what is best for you. And I know what you can handle. You will put your trust in me, from now on.” Gus stroked the boy’s cheek once before slapping the flogger viciously across Pinkman’s chest. The accompanying scream was long and strained. He brought it down lower, the crack sounding through the air. Red streaks emblazoned across Pinkman’s belly.

 

                Gus kept up his litany of punishment, the boy’s screams growing ragged. The falls of the whip rained down on any bit of flesh that Gus deemed useful. He got behind Pinkman and pushed the boy’s head forward until his body tipped with him, the ropes slung around his shoulders stopping him from falling over. The black phallus slid out most of the way, but Gus steadied the boy and its rubbery head stayed locked inside. He pushed the boy’s feet to the sides, leaving his backside unprotected, and brought the flogger down again. Pinkman’s ass was marked as vividly as the rest of him. He slashed at freckled shoulders and across roped arms. Dropping the flogger, he tilted Pinkman back on the bench, monitoring the slickened re-entry of the dildo until Pinkman started to squirm under the steady pressure. Another deep groan filled the room, the television having gone quiet with a screen full of video snow. Gus stood in front of the boy and pressed a hand to his tremulous stomach, the rest of Pinkman a collection of twitches and gasps.

 

                “You want the pain to become pleasure. You are fighting it, when you should be letting go. Use everything I have given you.” Gus ran a finger over each set of the extracted halves of the needles, as though strumming a guitar and Pinkman screamed again. “I want to see you fuck this cock,” he told the boy. Gus unclipped another metal body from the boy’s prick and was answered with a strangled groan. He squeezed a hand around the erection and it was hot and pulsing. “Go ahead. Fuck yourself for me.”

 

                 At first Pinkman didn’t move, but once he started to gyrate over the dildo, his ass was soon pumping the cock in haste. Gus knelt before him again to feed on the boy’s hard-on with succulent kisses, worked his throat around the cock until Pinkman began bouncing harder. Gus took hold of Pinkman’s hips again, directing him. He leaned back, used one hand to jack the boy off. “Take all of it. I want you all the way to the base,” he demanded, still exerting pressure on the boy’s hip. His face was up close to the action and he watched in fascination as the boy’s hole swallowed more. “Yes. You are a greedy whore. _My_ whore. This is what you want, what you beg of me,” he hissed. He licked what remained of the black rubber, letting his tongue slide up to meet the boy’s descent, snapping off the lower two clips to much surprise from above. He mouthed the stretched ring that wreathed the cock, moving to press all of his weight on the boy’s haunches until finally he brought Pinkman’s ass to hit the bench. The boy’s groan was an ellipsis of astonishment as Gus went back to the handjob, stroking him briskly, a thumb pressing down on the slit of the glans on the upswing. Gus cajoled the boy to move faster, fuck himself harder, and the boy complied, his body now completely slick with sweat. He was a vision, godlike and beautiful, everything in the room dazzled by the boy’s outflow of energy. Gus felt enthralled by what he held in his hands, felt a powerful surge of something electric run through him as he stayed connected to the body in front of him.

 

                He pumped his fist over the steely cock with delirious speed. “This is what I want to do to you. Every time I see you,” he said, his eyes glued to the dildo sliding in and out of Pinkman. His lust for the boy felt out of control and he attempted to pull himself together, to regain a sense of order to his emotions. He wanted this manchild fiercely, wanted to meld to this body, subsume its vulnerability. He tipped his head to look up at Pinkman’s face bathed in golden light.

 

                “Look at me, Jesse,” he commanded. The boy peered down at him with slits for eyes, while still moving in frantic thrusts. “I want you to come on this cock. I want to see it. Feel it. You will do this for me.” Gus continued his hyper strokes over the boy, but his other hand started to pluck free the metal binders on Pinkman’s scrotum. There was one long, uninterrupted cry as Gus worked to remove them all, Pinkman’s exhaustion catching up to him as he started to slow on the dildo, his body convulsing. Gus bent down to scoop the boy’s testicles in his mouth and slapped Pinkman’s ass, making him move in double-time again. He still worked the cock gripped in his hand, but as he felt the boy get closer to release, he leaned back to lock eyes with him once more.

 

                “Look at me,” he intoned.

 

                Pinkman’s gaze stayed riveted to him, his eyes wide but the pupils now blown, and Gus worried that he’d lost him too soon. Then the boy’s blank expression screwed into one of pain. His eyes rolled back and a low, rasping moan vibrated through him. The boy’s muscles locked stiffly as Gus kept up his strokes, and then there was a glorious spout of cream from his cock, the drops raining on Gus’s skin, rolling down his knuckles. Gus put his mouth over the head and swallowed the last of it, the jism still bubbling like a spring, and the drink just as potent. Gus felt the boy slump against the binds and ceased his sucking, standing up to tend to his charge. Pinkman appeared to have passed out.

 

                “Jesse. Jesse, are you with me?” he asked as he patted Pinkman’s face with light slaps. There was a stirring but the boy wouldn’t open his eyes, his body beginning to shake violently. “Jesse, can you hear me? Stay with me now. I have you. You are safe with me.” Gus started to remove the needles and the boy’s entire body moved with his breaths. “Jesse? Listen to the sound of my voice. I am going to take you upstairs, but first we need to get you out of these ropes. Let everything fall away and just listen to me, Jesse. You did excellent. I am very proud of you.”

 

                He needed to get the boy warmed up, pile some blankets on him, but it would take some time to unknot the dragonfly at Pinkman’s back. Once the needles and clips were detached, Gus lifted the boy off the bench and slid the dildo free, reaching up to untie the ropes that hung from the bar. He shifted the boy until he fell over Gus’s shoulder, with Gus awkwardly attempting to loosen the knot connecting a foot to a wrist with some difficulty. He moved quickly, his hand holding the bar as he made his way up the stairs, Pinkman’s dead weight seemingly heavier than before. By the time he’d reached the second flight of steps, Gus was winded, and he had to stop for a moment to catch his breath, his heart beating wildly as his chest heaved. He made a quick sojourn to the kitchen, holding on to Pinkman tightly as he pulled another bottle of water from the fridge. Moving slower on the steps, he got them both upstairs, rushing through his bedroom to get to the en suite.

 

                “We’re going to bring your body’s temperature back up, and give you a nice soothing bath,” he said aloud, not sure if Pinkman was still lucid. He laid the boy face down on the bathmat then stood up to reach for his robe on the back of the door, turning on the light as he did. The terrycloth was spread over Pinkman before Gus turned on the water and locked the drain. The collection of glass bottles on the edge of the bathtub held a spectrum of colors inside, and Gus opened several of them and drizzled blues and greens into the growing pool. He turned back to the young man on his floor, a sudden feeling of tenderness rushing over him.

 

                “Jesse? Are you still with me?” He stroked the back of the boy’s head, ran his fingers down his back, over the knots lined along the spine. Gus began the process of freeing the boy’s limbs, straddling Pinkman as he worked. He continued to touch and stroke him, listening for the boy’s breathing to even out. Pinkman’s skin was flushed and hot, the licks marked across him like flames. Gus pulled away the ropes, rounding them up into a lariat, and then slipped his hands under Pinkman’s armpits, bringing them to the front of his shoulders as he lifted him up.

 

                “You need some water. Open your mouth for me.”

 

                Pinkman obeyed, glugging from the bottle with eyes closed as Gus held him like a child in his arms. Gus inspected his body while running another comforting hand down the front of the boy. He didn’t spot any blood where the needles had been, but the punctured skin was already purpling. Seeing that the water was high enough, a thick layer of foam rocking across the top, Gus reached over to turn it off the taps. Carefully, but with some effort, he lifted Pinkman into the bath. The boy allowed his body to be eased halfway in, when suddenly he jolted into life, splashing the water violently over the side. Gus grabbed his wrists, tried to grab behind his neck, but Pinkman fought him, a wounded scream in his throat. He kicked and punched against Gus, his eyes widened with terror. Gus held him by the scruff of his neck, shushing him serenely, while Pinkman locked his arms as he pressed against Gus’s chest, the terror in his face bleeding into a disorienting anguish.

 

                “Jesse! You are safe. I have you and I won’t let anything happen to you. Now calm yourself. Look into my eyes, Jesse.” The boy froze, black pupils still dominating the blue of each iris, but he stared at Gus in a hypnotized gaze. Gus caressed his face. “Look at me. You are alright now. I will take care of you.” The eyes seemed to connect with reality and an instant later, the boy burst into broken sobs, his tears coming in sniffles and gasps. Gus gripped Pinkman’s shoulders as he cried pitifully, pulled him closer, then held his chin up and pressed his mouth to the boy’s. “You did very well, Jesse,” he repeated after the kiss, and another wave of nostalgia hit him, remembering the way he would hold Max to comfort him. He stuffed his emotions back down from where they came and straightened his back, made himself reach for the cloth by the bottles.

 

                “You will be fine. Now lie back. You stink from sweat and I need to wash you.”

 

 

* * *

                Pinkman lay resting on his stomach under the duvet, eyes closed. Gus kneeled next to him rubbing lotion into his shoulders, eliciting small gasps that ended in notes of pleasure. He pulled the covers down the boy’s back and kneaded the skin and muscle along his spine. Pinkman’s sighs were soft and subdued, yet Gus could feel the palpable release of the boy’s stress with every touch he administered and his affection was sharpened in the moment. There was more to Pinkman than even he had foreseen. He had expected that the boy would be easily influenced to turn on Walter but that had proven shaky, and now his notional imaginings of a sexual plaything were being challenged as well. The idea of nurturing Walter’s protégé suddenly meant something more to him.

 

                He took off his glasses and set them on the nightstand then bent down to breathe in the boy’s clean scent, hovering down his back until he reached the swoop of his ass. Gus pulled the sheets and duvet past the boy’s bottom. All of the arousal he had disregarded during the scene in the gym returned in a flood and Gus was inundated by a swarm in his head, crowding out reason for desire. Straightening his body, Gus lay on top of the boy, nestling his nose in Pinkman’s neck. He suckled him there, abrading skin with his teeth and kissing leisurely across shoulders, licking and sucking at freckles that he wished to frame on his wall. He lifted his head up to find the boy watching him with interest, the eyes back to normal, and Gus curved a hand around the boy’s face to cup his jaw, brought him close enough for a kiss. Gus pressed his tongue to Pinkman’s and felt the voltage course through his prick. He shifted atop Pinkman so that it rested in the crease of the boy’s ass, the kiss gaining heat. But the boy swallowed nervously and pulled away, his arms chevrons on either side of the pillows as he sunk his face down, one eye watching Gus warily as he smacked more kisses to Pinkman’s shoulder. Gus trailed them down Pinkman’s spine, dropped his face into the small of the boy’s back where he circled his tongue until he got the response he wanted, quickly moving his body to the end of the bed so he could spread the boy’s ass. Pinkman froze underneath him, but then Gus was burying his tongue deep in his hole and soon a sweet moan disseminated the air. Gus grew more sedulous, sliding arms under the boy’s pelvis and cinching his waist to bring him closer, Gus shoving his face deeper between luscious mounds of flesh, his tongue encased by walls of silk that constricted and tugged at him.

 

                The moment that the boy lifted his pelvis and pushed back, Gus was accosted by tingles racing across his skin. He got up abruptly, immediately tugging at the knot of his belt. Pinkman glanced behind him, expressionless, but put his face back in his pillow when he saw Gus undressing. Gus stood up to finish stripping then ripped the sheets all the way down to the end of the bed, exposing all of Pinkman. He leapt back on the bed and on the boy, kissing up his spine, biting and sucking on the shallow well below the knobby bone of his neck. He pressed his erection to the boy’s backside, wanting him to feel it, his stiffened cock articulating succinctly just what the boy did to him.

 

                “Gus. Wait,” the boy said softly, but Gus was already climbing off of him and using his tongue to soak his asshole with unconstrained enthusiasm. After what he had just stuffed up the boy earlier, he was not concerned about preparing him for penetration but simply split the boy’s legs and settled into the space between them, already guiding his heavy cock to the spot he most wanted to be. The boy flinched underneath Gus as soon as the head breached him, but Gus didn’t stop as he eased inside.

 

                “Gus, _please._ Don’t – don’t hurt me anymore,” Pinkman pleaded meekly, his voice hoarse. “I – I could use a break. Like … for the rest of the night, maybe. I just –”

 

                “I will take care of you,” Gus told him again, feeling breathless. “Do not be concerned. We will go slower this time.” And he thrust into the young man underneath him with a sincerity he hadn’t felt in years. Gus circled his arms on either side of Pinkman, slid his hands under the boy’s head and chest. He started kissing him again, his thrusts languid and deep. He bent over Pinkman, lifting up his cheek to twist the boy’s face towards him and devouring the mouth under his. He kept his promise, gliding in and out slowly, but after a while, he pulled them both on their sides, his forearm holding up the boy’s thigh as Gus began to stroke his cock. Every breath, every utterance from Pinkman, made Gus want to move slower, to prolong the ecstasy, but it was the boy’s mouth that spurred on his pace. Gus watched Pinkman tip his head back with eyes shut, that mouth opened wide for the moans that hit each musical beat. Gus imagined the things he could do with that mouth, suddenly wished to see the boy’s swollen lips wrapped around his dick. He envisioned what that would look like with Pinkman’s cerulean gaze on him the entire time and it was as if a switch had been flipped, Gus suddenly grabbing the boy’s hips and pumping into him with greater commitment, the rapidity of their movements heard in the rhythmic slap of flesh.

 

                “Gus, _no,_ ” Pinkman groaned, but Gus couldn’t stop, curling over the boy’s body and scrunching him closer so that Pinkman had to bend like an archer’s bow while Gus pressed on. Another image came to him of Pinkman industriously sucking his cock with abandon and it instantly sent him over the edge, his climax suddenly there, and then he was gripping Pinkman like a buoy, holding on for dear life as his shout rang throughout the room. He came so hard in the boy that his vision bleached everything out, and he felt dizzy for a moment, but he kept thrusting as he wound down, until the orgasm finally passed. Heart pounding, with a rush in his ears, Gus dropped his head to the boy’s back in elation.

 

                He lay as still as the dead, willing his heart to slow down, his breaths shallow and harsh.

 

                “Are you okay?” he heard underneath him. The boy sounded concerned.

 

                “Yes, I am fine. Just winded.” Gus got off the boy, lifting him up by the hips until the boy’s knees bent to the mattress with his ass in the air. “Stay like this,” he said. “Don’t move.” He sluggishly made his way to the edge of the bed where he pulled open a drawer and fished for the right toy. The plug that he chose was a vicious red this time, and he prepped it for insertion. He ran a thumb down his prick, sluicing off the milky residue and rubbing it over Pinkman’s waiting orifice. Gus wedged the silicone bulb into the boy, sealing up his spunk, and noticed Pinkman staring over his shoulder at him with a hurtful expression. The red disc was all that was now visible of the plug, and Gus patted it benevolently. “You will wear this to the parlor. You should be used to it by now. Between the distraction this brings and the heightened state from your experience earlier, I wouldn’t be surprised if you barely notice any pain at all during the session.” He pulled up the tangled sheets at the end of the bed and covered Pinkman, layering him with the duvet. “Now get some sleep and I will wake you when it is time to go.”

 

                Gus got up to move away but his wrist was caught in Pinkman’s grip. He turned back to the boy in puzzlement.

 

                “You’re just gonna leave me hanging?” The boy raised his head to look at Gus, but then rolled to his side, casting off the sheets. Still holding Gustavo’s wrist, he pressed the hand to his awaiting erection. “Or you gonna finish me off?”

 

* * *

 

                The Volvo’s engine hummed quietly as they drove through darkened streets of downtown. Dawn had not yet crept through the skies and the high beams cut through a patch of fog. Gus cast a glance to his occupant, noting the boy’s thousand yard stare through the windshield. He hadn’t said a word since they got in the car, even though he’d chafed at the outfit he’d been commanded to wear. Pinkman had hardly been vocal about it when Gus presented him with the ensemble, but his expression had spoken volumes of his displeasure. The boy’s current mood was still indiscernible, however, as they navigated the dodgier parts of the city.

 

                “It is just past Central. We should be there in a few minutes,” he said, simply to hear a different sound in the car. Pinkman gave an obligatory nod, his disinterest plain in his face. Gus scanned his eyes approvingly down the coat the boy wore, its slick leather shining under the veering beams of the street lights. It was tight around the torso, but flared at the waist, and the cut was extremely flattering on him, making him recall, once again, the startling picture of Maximino touring the streets of Buenos Aires. The boy was much slighter in build than Max had been, but Gus was starting to appreciate the coiled strength in such a lean form.

 

                “I met Ernesto on a trip to Bogotá. It was before I set up shop here, I was there with a colleague for business, but through a design of circumstance, I saw him working on a friend and it was quite informative. He’s a true artisan. But he’s had some troubles over the years. Albuquerque has been ideal for him, in many ways, but, of course, here he doesn’t have quite the same clientele that he was used to.”

 

                The inside of the car stayed silent. “Who did your ink work?” he asked, hoping to prompt some conversation.

 

                “Different people,” the boy answered vaguely, his line of sight never leaving the road.

 

                “Perhaps you’ve been to Ernesto’s place already,” Gus suggested lightheartedly.

 

                 “I doubt it,” Pinkman replied in a dead voice.

 

                 “Well,” he muttered. “I’m excited to see the results.” It felt strange to be affected by Pinkman’s mood. Nevertheless, there was a sudden itching inside Gus that wanted to see the boy changed. Gus reflected on what had happened earlier and was reminded that his young lover needed some space, but there was something impatient that rose up in Gus which seemed to be centered solely on Pinkman’s reactions.

 

                They drove by the gaudy neon sign of Garcia’s Kitchen and suddenly Pinkman straightened up in his seat to take notice of where they were. He stared back at the receding store, before glancing at Gus with a hardened resolve.

 

                “You know one of your pick-up places for drops is close by. Down by the old train depot. That’s where we almost got robbed, Mike and I. I guess he told you all about that, huh?”

 

                Gus watched the road as he turned the corner. “Yes, of course. This is why you were given more jobs to do. When I expressed to you that I’d heard you could handle yourself, I was referring to the car crash as much as I was referencing your escapade with the junkies who had stolen our product.”

 

                “Yeah?” The boy rubbed at his bristled head in contemplation. “Funny, how the very first day of me shadowing Mike, we almost get jumped. Kind of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

 

                “Coincidence? Not necessarily. It’s not as if it hadn’t happened before. We’d been harassed by the cartel for months. This is part of the reason why it is better for my men to work in teams of two. You never know what you’ll be up against.”

 

                “These guys weren’t cartel, though. They were just some dudes who happened to know to be there.”

 

                “I am not sure where you are going with this,” Gus said patiently as he pulled into the parking lot of the parlor. “I control the Southwest market, but there are plenty of dissenters. Smaller operators that would like nothing more than to see me shut down so they can take over distribution in my territories.” He pulled up slowly to the garage at the back of the building, tapping his horn twice.

 

                “Whatever. Doesn’t matter, anyway.” Pinkman watched the garage door trundle upwards on its track looking anxious, the whir of its motor scoring the action with dread. The boy’s leg bounced up and down as he started to chew on his thumbnail, his hand fisted at his mouth.

 

                “Why do you say this? Of course, it matters.” The ascending garage door stopped, the noise cutting off to the disparate sounds of early morning traffic. A periwinkle glow had seeped into the black cloth of the sky.

 

                Pinkman sighed heavily. “I’m sitting here with a dildo up my ass dressed like I’m going to some faggot go-go club, and getting ready to let your buddy stick the shit out of my balls. Pretty much everything else has ceased being relevant, you dig? I don’t even know what’s important, anymore.”

 

                Gus stroked the boy’s hair on the back of his head and smiled at him reassuringly. “Loyalty. Loyalty is important. And for you to listen to me. I will guide you to your best self, Jesse.”

 

                A light sprang on in the garage, illuminating dramatic graffiti on the walls, and a sports car to the right. The station wagon rolled into the vacant space as the sound of the garage door motor began its ominous drone once more.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sega Barrett - Poor Jesse, alright. This is gonna be one rough weekend. As for the video, this chapter should explain some of it.  
> Noodles - You can never trust a drug lord. But it was Jesse who staged the phone call. There will be some discussion about it in future chapters. And Jesse is in a fearful situation! Yet, he's often so adaptable, you always wonder what he's going to do to adjust to the next new horrible thing.  
> ZeRunaway - Ack, sorry! Yes, I love smart!Jesse, but even a sound plan comes down to execution (heh). Walt will definitely have some words for Jesse about this. But first Jesse has to make it to the end of the 24 hours.
> 
> Jennifurby - aww, thank you. I really wanted that moment to be as tense as the show. it's what Breaking Bad did best. And I tend to agree that Walter's plans can often be so theatrical and convoluted. Jesse keeps growing, though, and getting sharper. I've postponed my move til mid October, and I quit my job several weeks back, so now its down to the wire for finding work and a house down there. Fun stuff.  
> natasha - What a lovely name - ha, and oh so familiar (its my name, too). Thanks so much. I liked Gus's Spidey sense in the show - he might not know exactly what's happening, but he's sharp enough to know something is up.


	25. The Fever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning** -- this time for electoshock/e-stim play. (Surely, you were expecting that was going to show up, right? -- don't worry, though, it's nothing like what Gus practices on his victims.)
> 
> Also, this chapter - well, it's pretty much two chapters in one, so it's looooong. It was important that I fit all of this in one sitting though, and as I look at how much story I still have to go through and my dwindling chapter count remaining, I'm getting a little nervous. And there's a lot going on in this one, so take a break in the middle if you have to, 'cause, boy ... yeah. (And there was way too much text in this installment for me to mess with the indentations.)
> 
> This one's going out to solfi!

 

 

_How close were you to him?_

_Close. I mean, closer than you and me right now._

 

                Gus brought the car to a stop inside and shut off the engine. Boxes were stacked in one corner, all labeled in meticulously scripted black marker, but the pegboard of tools over the workbench looked as if they’d never been touched, all lined up perfectly in rows. Jesse could have guessed that Gus’s garage would be as immaculate as everything else he inhabited, but he was at least relieved to discover that the space was actually used to hold the Volvo and not some scary torture chamber. The gym was bad enough.

 

                Jesse was slunk low into his seat, afraid to move, yet knowing he had to. The door slammed as Gus got out but when he turned back to see Jesse still in the car he gave him a curious look, until Jesse screwed up his courage and grabbed the handle. The patent leather of his trench coat rubbed abrasively as he got out of his seat, his boots clicking loudly on the cement floor. All he needed was some eyeliner and lip gloss and he’d be ready for a HIM concert. He felt ridiculous but his attire was the least of his worries. Following Gus to the door leading into the house, Jesse felt odder with every step, like he was floating, disconnected from his surroundings while ambient sounds around him seemed to amplify. Everything below his waist still throbbed. It was surreal how much metal was now in his dick and thereabouts. Gus was changing him so quickly that his brain couldn’t keep up. He no longer had a weapon against Gus. There was no way that the man wasn’t going to mess with him again before the day was done and Gus’s time was up. Jesse felt trapped as he stepped through the door and made his way back into the hallway, the dread in his gut making him feel as though he was walking to his execution. They wound their way through the dining room and back into the foyer, where Gus held out a hand in a signal for Jesse’s coat as he opened the closet door.

 

                “Um … do I get to change?” he asked hopefully as he began unbuttoning the double breasted panel.

 

                “Perhaps. I thought you might want to get some more rest. You only slept for a few hours. We can go up to bed. It is just coming up for six now.”

 

                “Oh.” Jesse felt exhausted but the last thing he wanted to do was get back into bed with Gus. “What about a run? Isn’t this usually about the time we go running?”

 

                Gus’s eyebrows rose at the suggestion. “You wish to exercise?” He shook his head curtly. “This would not be a good idea for today. Remember, you need some time to heal. Jogging with fresh piercings, this will only cause friction which can result in swelling and other complications. No, you should rest.”

 

                “Well, I got a lot of … I don’t know, just a lot of energy. Endorphins, like you said. I still feel kind of fucked up, or whatever. Like, not as intense as before, but, like I just did some lines a few hours ago and there’s still that buzz in everything.”

 

                Gus’s face was grim as he considered Jesse’s request. “We can use the weight machines,” he recommended, but Jesse didn’t want to go down there, either.

 

                “Nah, forget it. Can I –” Jesse felt apprehensive. He didn’t want to set off Gus like before, but he felt determined to retain some control of his own body. “Can I just … get this thing out of me? Please? I’ve got two loads blocked up there and it’s a little disgusting.” Gus simply stared at him, his expression now blank. “I mean, it’s just … it’s _uncomfortable._ And I would really appreciate it if, you know, I could just … be in your house, like, _dressed_ and feeling normal for a change. Is that too much to ask?”

 

                There was little affect to Gus’s features. “No,” he said calmly, as if he hadn’t set the rules to begin with.

 

A flash of rage ran through Jesse, as he thought about what had happened at the tattoo parlor. “You know, you didn’t have to fuck me in front of that guy. With me still strapped to that creepy chair. I had just done what you wanted. I didn’t complain. I just let your boy do everything you asked for. The whole series, man. And then you go and do that to me. Just so’s it was crystal clear to that dude that I was your bitch.”

 

“It wasn’t in front of him. You are being dramatic. I asked him to leave us.”

 

                “Yeah, and then he went into his office where he rubbed one out while watching us through his fucking window.” He laughed in disbelief. “You’re telling me you didn’t notice that? Don’t fucking bullshit me, Gus. You did that move on purpose. Trust me, I got your message.”

 

                “I was unaware we were being spied on. My attention was solely on you. I was … pleased with the outcome. And with your performance.” Gus came closer to him and let his fingertips brush the back of Jesse’s shoulders, his gaze piercing through Jesse. “Ernesto and I have known each other a long time; it is nothing he hasn’t been exposed to before. But I’m afraid you bring this out in me. You are exactly right, you did as I asked, and consequently I became overzealous. I wanted to show my gratitude.” He brushed his fingers across Jesse’s chest as he slid the coat open, running his hands back up to shoulders as he rounded the coat over them. The stiff leather was pulled down his back and from his arms and then Gus had it folded in his hands. He fit it on a wooden coat hanger and put it away while Jesse stood there in nothing but strips of leather connected by a thick ring at the center of his sternum. The harness was an x across his chest and back, buckles and grommets connecting the straps that ran up to the collar at his neck and down to the thong he wore.

 

                “Well, it might have helped you to keep from getting ‘ _overzealous’_ if you had just let me wear a t-shirt and jeans, alls I’m saying,” Jesse countered.

 

                Gus sighed. “This is very becoming on you,” he insisted before a self-satisfied grin escaped him. “Actually, you look incredible. I wanted to show you off.”

 

                Jesse could feel his hysteria rising again and he took a deep breath to center himself. “Look. I get it. But … I’d still like to take this thing out of my ass. So can I go upstairs and … get decent? Like, as a reward, maybe?” He hesitated a moment before adding, “I’ll do something for you later.” He flattened a shaky hand to Gus’s chest, his voice low and husky. “Whatever you want, Daddy.”

 

                Gus sniffed again as he ran fingers down Jesse’s side. “I’ll get you something from my dresser to wear for the day. I still think you should take a nap while I prepare breakfast. I’ll remove the lock. We can clean you out at the same time.”

 

                Jesse tried to keep from grinding his back teeth down to powder as he clenched his jaw tight enough to break something. His breaths were coming too fast, and he swallowed deeply, his eyes burning as they stared straight ahead while Gus turned him to guide him up the stairs. Strangely, he heard Gus’s voice in his head, echoing his sentiment from the plane ride. _You can do this,_ his captor urged, and Jesse wanted to believe him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Jesse came into the kitchen, dressed in some shorts and a DEA Fun Run t-shirt, Gus was in a good mood. There was sizzling and bubbling over on the stove and the waft of something delicious coming from the oven. Jesse’s stomach gurgled from hunger, but he had a nagging worry about the food. If Gus suspected that Jesse had tried to poison him, he could have retaliated – laced the eggs with strychnine, or whatever he dosed the tequila with in Mexico. The aroma was overwhelming, though, and Jesse felt even more miserable as he eyed the carafe of orange juice on the table.

 

“Good. You look rejuvenated. How was your shower?” Gus asked as he came up to Jesse and ran a hand over his wet hair. “This is growing out nicely. We’ll have to take you in for a trim before you come to the restaurant,” he commented.

 

“Uh, the shower was good, thanks. And I can trim my own hair.”

 

“No, I will send you to my barber.” And that was the end of the discussion. Gus waved a hand theatrically towards the stove. “I have made you a delicious breakfast as befits a king. We want to keep your energy up. These are the best eggs you will ever taste. I make them with chorizo and green chiles.”

 

“Yeah, thanks, but I’m … not really hungry.”

 

“Nonsense. You need to eat,” Gus insisted. “This is necessary maintenance. We don’t want you to crash later on. Here, I’m making _cortados_ for us.”

 

Jesse watched Gus finish the shot and then cut it with the milk before it was handed to him. He took the espresso glass with its creamy top layer and knocked it back. “Do you need me to do anything?” he asked.

 

But Gus held out a hand to one of the black bar stools at the island counter. “Sit. We can talk while I finish.”

 

He sat down, feeling a lot more comfortable in clothes that covered him, even if the shorts were rather small, and the t-shirt was even smaller, tight enough that the barbells at his chest were clearly etched through the cotton. There was mesh inside of the shorts that wrapped gauze against his junk, yet the palpitating throb in his prick had died down only to be supplanted by a crawling sensation on his skin that wouldn’t fade after an antiseptic sting. Bouncing his knee, Jesse felt the last fizzle of electric feel-good that his body had dumped in his veins, a weariness taking hold of him. He rubbed at his eye with the heel of his hand wishing for a bump.

 

“Hey, you got any more of that espresso?”

 

Gus turned to him with a beaming smile. “Of course. I’ll need to steam some more milk.” For a time-stopping second, Jesse thought of the ricin and almost asked for a lesson, until he dismally remembered that the toxin was gone, poured down the sink, and felt his depression slam into him all over again. If Gus had chosen this breakfast to poison him, at least it would be over soon and he wouldn’t have to face Walter. But deep down, Jesse understood that Gus didn’t want him gone just yet, not unless he was into necrophilia. There was probably plenty more that would be done to him in the remaining time of their arrangement and the inevitability of that made him think of his night after Jane was gone, the heroin snaking through him like an angel delivering his slow, blissful death. He had wanted to surrender, to let the void take him, but with Gus there was always the spectre of the unpredictable, a box cutter flashing in the dark.

 

“How is everything feeling so far?” Gus asked, his tone implicit.

 

“Okay, I guess. I mean, between each one, it didn’t hurt that bad, but … all of them together, it’s like this weird swarm around my dick. Still, it’s not like when I got my tats, you know? Especially the one on my wrist, that was super intense. Holy shit, it took a long time, too. Feeling that needle for hours – ” Jesse paused, mortified that he’d just brought up needles in front of Gus. “Well, whatever. You kind of keep feeling that vibration, in your teeth, through your skin. It’s – I mean, it’s sort of cool. I kind of get that … pain, pleasure thing. I can see why some people might be into it.”

 

“Yes, I imagine you’ve seen some examples of that,” Gus said somewhat disapprovingly, as he set some placemats in front and next to Jesse. He brought the plates over, setting the silverware alongside them. “We will do the delicate one on our next visit. I thought you handled enough for today.”

 

“What?” Jesse asked dully, feeling knocked for another loop.

 

“The _apadravya_ is much more complicated and in a highly sensitive area, as it runs vertically through the head of the penis. There is a much longer healing time and it can be quite painful,” he answered offhandedly, as if he weren’t actually speaking to the person he expected to sit through it.

 

“Wait a minute. What are you talking about? We’re not done? Gus, I just got like a pound of silver added to my dick. You had him pierce my _taint_ , for Christ’s sake. Besides, I already got something through the tip.” He felt panicked again, his voice rising to a shout. “Am I even gonna be able to see anything down there by the time you get done? Will I _ever_ get a say in this?!”

 

“Calm down. I am not talking about anything else other than this one last procedure. The crown of the entire piece, if you will,” Gus said with a note of smugness. “Although, many people do find the practice addicting, I simply didn’t want to overwhelm you.” He began scraping a heaping pile of colorfully flecked eggs from the frying pan onto Jesse’s plate. “The piercings you have around the rim are merely crosspoints to what is coming. The corona will look even more attractive when it is completed. You have a nice shape that should be emphasized. And the _guiche –_ it can be very pleasurable if utilized well.”

 

Jesse continued to gape, knowing that he had little recourse and that any argument was futile. “I don’t know what to say,” he said truthfully. Gus apparently had quite the vision for his dick. “When the hell is this gonna happen?”

 

“In a few weeks, I think. We want to let the first batch heal.”

 

“Yeah, right, let them heal. I thought sex was off limits while that happened. Didn’t seem to stop you, though, did it?”

 

Gus brought hot rolls to the counter and then came around the other side. “It depends on the sex,” he said resting a hand on Jesse’s leg as he got in the seat next to him. He lightly stroked a finger down the bulge of Jesse’s cock, making it jerk under the thin material. “This should not be entering anything. No tight, dark places. Keep it away from other bodily fluids. And no masturbation. Leave it alone for the next week,” Gus stated accusingly, locking eyes with Jesse. “Can you manage that?”

 

Jesse thought about Andrea, wondering if she was ever planning on calling him back. He got a flash of himself on his bed with Big Boy making him moan and was annoyed by the image, and even more annoyed with Gus for making him think of it. “Yeah, I think I can manage it,” he replied sarcastically, uneasy from Gus’s steady gaze, as if Jesse’s every thought was a moving film captured in the transparent bubble of his head.

 

A hand slid under the waistband at the small of his back, creeping to his ass as Gus leaned over to kiss his neck. “This, however, is mine,” he whispered while groping Jesse. “I will make you sing.” He forced Jesse’s head to the side, the kiss moving to his lips, and Jesse opened his mouth to him. He wondered if he had the strength to take the fork by his plate and plunge it into Gus’s eye, find a knife to gut him, if he could deal with the aftermath. Maybe if he just let Gus fuck him hard enough, or long enough, the guy’s heart would conk out finally. But Jesse was afraid to imagine what he’d have to go through to get Gus there.

 

Gus turned his interest back to his plate of food and Jesse stabbed his fork in his scrambled eggs a few times, the smell of it inciting his gorge to rise. He opted for the roll and slathered it with butter, shoving most of it in his mouth. Gus poured some juice in Jesse’s glass before pouring some in his own, but Jesse didn’t wait, tipping the glass to drink with his cheeks still swollen with bread. There was some kind of potato and hash in a creamy sauce between them and Jesse had to turn away from it, the sight of congealed white lumps making him nauseous.

 

“You need to eat more than that,” Gus chided, sliding Jesse’s fork into the pile on his plate. “I made this just for you. At least try the sweet potato and corned beef.”

 

Jesse picked up the fork and scooped a mound of eggs and meat to shovel into his mouth. Before he could swallow any of it, he filled his fork again, shoving more eggs between his lips and then chasing it with the rest of the roll. He proceeded to spoon the creamy hash into the center of his plate while he fought to get some of the food down his throat. After a few gulps, he shoveled in the sliced potatoes, the white cream turning to spit in his mouth. He swallowed it all down with the orange juice, gulping so hard it made him gasp into the glass. He choked on a cough when he finished but grabbed his fork and started to pile it with more of the mess on his plate before Gus put a hand on top of his to stop him. Jesse closed his eyes as he felt the sting of tears, felt the well in his throat. He had to pull himself together.

 

“You are getting yourself worked up. Take a breath.” Gus carded long fingers through his hair, ran them down his neck and the knobs of his spine. “You have been put through a lot since you arrived. We are taking some time now. To relax and reflect. If you wish, you may ask me whatever you like.”

 

“Excuse me?” Jesse felt bewildered, afraid to think and afraid to submit. Whatever action he chose, Gus would know what he was up to, would figure him out.

 

“You need to take it easy. Let us have a quiet conversation. What would you like to talk about?”

 

“I don’t know.” He took a soldiering breath. “Like, we can talk about anything?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Um … this job you want me to do. What if I can’t … I mean, I don’t know this stuff. And I’m supposed to tell people what to do? Or how they’re not doing things right? And I’m supposed to do this at fourteen locations? What if I can’t do it? Like, your employees don’t buy it?”

 

Gus smiled warmly at him. “I don’t foresee this as a problem. After the way you dealt with Don Eladio’s chemists, I have absolutely no concerns that you won’t be able to work with my teams. As for the knowledge required, we will have manuals for you to go through so you are familiar with each of the state’s laws. If you can reproduce Walter’s complicated formula, then I have no doubt you can memorize a few codes. I have complete faith in you.”

 

“Why? Don’t just blow smoke up my ass, why do you trust _me_ to do this? I totally faked my way through that takedown with that asshole, ‘cause I knew if I fucked up, I was a dead man. Provided a lot of motivation, yo. But I was scared shitless the entire time.”

 

“Vuentes’s men were a lot more formidable than anyone you will come across on my staff,” Gus assured. “And your insistence on high standards in their lab made all the difference. It doesn’t matter that you feel like a fake – you keep doing it until you believe it. I see a leader in you, Jesse. You understand people. You know what drives them. You project strength when you need to. These are the qualities that I need in my organization. Qualities that people will respect. You will do fine.”

 

Again, Jesse felt stymied by the value Gus placed on him. “Am I supposed to do the rounds all in one day?” he asked.

 

“No, that would not be possible. I have restaurants in five states. We will stagger the visits over a four week time period. You have one day where you will spend the early part of your shift covering three or four of them depending on their proximity to each other. I will take you around the first time and introduce you, be there if you have questions. The farthest location is in Nevada, but we’ll take the Kodiak to decrease traveling time. For example, you can do all four of the Texas chains in a morning, starting with the Odessa location and ending in Lubbock, and be able to fly back by late afternoon, in time to get a batch done. I can have Tyrus break up the sheets early when they are ready, before you come in. Have him do packaging, weighing, and so forth. We need you where the synthesis is most critical.”

 

“Sounds like you got it all figured out,” Jesse commented drily. He looked down at his plate, the food looking distinctly less appetizing than before, and slid it forward, grabbing another roll to nibble on.

 

“A business does not simply spring up out of talent and demand. It takes careful planning and strategizing. Particularly in _our_ business. You have a skill that is beneficial to me, yes – but you have a point-of-view and a backbone that is well-suited to what I would like to achieve here.”

 

“And what’s that? Who else are you going after?”

 

“I only go after those who would attack me, Jesse. But I have much to show you.” Gus stood up and tugged the roll out of Jesse’s mouth. “Stop eating all the bread. I have _sopaipillas pasadas_ for us warming in the oven.” He cleared away Jesse’s plate as he headed to the stove. “If you still want to go outside, we can take a walk after breakfast. It might do you some good.”

 

He came back holding a dish loaded high with flat discs covered in a dark syrup. Gus forked one of the fritters onto a clean plate for Jesse. “These were a favorite of my girls whenever the weather turned cold. It is very sweet, so the _cortado_ I promised you will go perfectly with it.”

 

Jesse picked at his food while the loud hum of the espresso machine clashed with the jet spray sound of the steamer. The noise seemed to vibrate in his head, making everything swim in front of him for a moment. He wished he had as much confidence in his abilities as Gus did, and the bitter reminder of the lost ricin taunted him with his ineptitude.

 

Gus brought them their coffees and sat down with him again. “Take things a little slower this time, or you will make yourself sick.”

 

“Sure thing, Daddy,” Jesse snapped before grabbing his drink and knocking back a gulp. He set the half-empty glass to the counter and gave a heavy sigh.

 

“I don’t find that … appealing,” Gus said, his attention back on his food.

“What?”

 

“I am not a replacement for your father. And you are not a child. The conceit is disturbing.”

 

Jesse snickered deep in his throat, amused in spite of the awkwardness. “Whatever. You’re the one who likes to fuck ‘em young. I thought that was what you wanted to hear.” He eyed Gus up and down, affecting an innocent smile. “What would you like me to call you?”

 

Gus dropped his fork, wrapped both hands around Jesse’s neck and pulled his face close. He twisted Jesse’s head so that his lips pressed to an ear. “When you beg me to fuck you, you will call me Gustavo. And you will say it with respect.” Jesse’s face was wrenched back and then Gus was kissing him with a punishing mouth. He put his hand to Gus’s head and pushed back, kissing him just as violently. There was a deep scrape along the tile as Jesse felt his chair being dragged towards Gus, hands moving from his neck to his bottom as he was hitched up onto Gus’s lap. He spread his legs to straddle Gus, let the man run his hands under his shirt.

 

“Take this off,” Gus breathed, hiking up the hem to flash his stomach, and Jesse fingered the ends, dragging them up over his head. Gus suddenly gripped under his biceps, steadying his arms so that his hands were caught behind him. “Stay like this,” Gus instructed as he fiddled at the nape of Jesse’s neck, twisting a knot in the tee-shirt so that the material locked his wrists together. “Keep your hands there until I say you can move.”

“Okay.”

 

Gus caressed his chest, scraped his fingertips down to the planes of Jesse’s stomach while reaching up to kiss the pulse at his throat. Jesse arched his back, let Gus bite at his nipples, his appetite roaring back. He imagined sinking teeth into Gus’s jugular, feeling the hot blood pump into his mouth.

 

“Now you will eat properly,” Gus said. He used the side of the fork to cut off a piece of the _sopaipilla_ and then held it up. “Open your mouth for me.” Jesse did as he was asked, bit down on the fork to eat his mouthful of fritter, Gus watching him as he chewed and swallowed. It tasted like pumpkin and brown sugar. He cut off another piece and fed it to Jesse, while Jesse stared back, never looking away even for a moment as he swallowed again. Gus held up the shot glass with the remaining _cortado_ _,_ only allowing Jesse to take a sip before pulling it away.

 

“What about your father,” Jesse asked with a sudden curiosity as Gus readied another biteful of the dessert.

 

A single eyebrow was raised as Gus pondered the question. “What about him? What would you like to know?”

 

“Is he alive?” Jesse opened his mouth for the fork.

 

“No. Not anymore.”

_“_ What happened to him?” he mumbled while he chewed. “He get wasted by some traitors?”

 

“Nothing so dramatic as that,” Gus noted with an air of disappointment. “He passed about ten years ago, from a heart attack. Died in his own bed, with his wife nearby.”

 

“Oh. So then, other than your girls and your grandson, you don’t really have any family left, huh?”

 

Gus took a long breath and held it for a moment before exhaling. “I suppose. Although I like to think that as long as you have children, you will always have family.”

 

“I guess.” Jesse remembered something Gus had said at Casa Tranquilla. “At least you have a grandson that can carry on the Fring name, right? Your heir to the meth dynasty?”

There was a lull in the conversation as Gus held up the coffee again and let Jesse finish it off, Gus studying his face carefully.

 

“I have no grandson,” he said finally, looking over at Jesse with a cold clarity. “That was a lie. The toys were simply props, a deception for Walter’s sake so that he would identify with me as a father.”

 

“Oh. I don’t get it. You are a father.”

 

“Yes, but having young children conveys a certain protectiveness and vulnerability. It is not quite the same thing when your children are grown adults living their own lives.”

 

“Huh. Okay. I don’t get why you thought you needed to lie to me, but whatever. I don’t care if you got grandkids or not.” But that wasn’t true at all, and Jesse secretly thrilled at these bits of information. He needed to collect as much as he could, gather data as Mr. White would say. There had to be a way to salvage something from the disaster of the night before.

“Well, one day I hope to be blessed with such a gift. But my daughters are very driven in their careers.”

 

“Gee, I wonder who they get that from.” Gus held up another bite for him, but Jesse turned away. “Seriously, I can’t eat any more. I’m totally full.”

 

“Fine.” Gus unknotted the shirt at his neck. “Lift up your arms.” As soon as Jesse did Gus pulled down his shirt back to where it had been, straightening the front of it with broad strokes. He smacked at Jesse’s ass. “Get up. You can clear away the dishes.”

 

“Well, wait a second. I thought we were talking. You know, while we chill.”

 

Gus gave a nod of his head. “Of course. We can still talk.” Jesse hadn’t moved from Gus’s lap and the man crisscrossed his arms at the small of Jesse’s back with an affectionate smile.

 

“So … that whole thing with Salamanca. You said that when I … when I killed his grandson, that was the last of his family. What happened to the rest? I mean, besides Tuco and his cousins.”

There was a deep sigh. “Why do you want to talk about Hector?”

 

“I don’t know. I guess he just spooked me. That creepy bell of his, the way he kept looking at me. Was he really that much of a badass before? Before – what was it, a stroke?”

 

“Yes.” Gus leaned back against the chair, watched his fingers run down the exposed thigh under Jesse’s shorts. “Hector’s life was beset by tragedy. His wife and daughter were killed in a brutal car crash, the vehicle exploding into flames. They were burned alive. His son – Joaquin’s father – disappeared, along with the man’s wife. The bodies were found several days later draped across a fence near the Mexican border. Their heads were cut off, left resting on the ground at their feet, the eyes missing. The Los Zetas cartel was suspected and it touched off a war, which kept Don Hector busy for many years, and … there were many more casualties. Hector raised Joaquin, and his nephews.”

 

A deathly chill ran up Jesse’s spine and he knew with certainty that Gus was responsible. The words rushed out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Did you do it?”

Gus looked surprised. “I’m sorry?”

 

“Did you kill them?”

 

It was quiet for a long moment as Gus locked eyes with Jesse, his face an indecipherable mask. When he spoke, his voice was bone deep.

 

“Not directly.”

 

The chill spread from his back all across Jesse’s flesh. “So … you arranged it then. All of them? And what about Hector? His stroke … was that just a convenience?”

 

Another deep, elongated breath. Gus moved his hands to hold on to Jesse’s waist. “We have a saying in my culture. _Sangre por sangre._ Do you know what this means?”

 

Jesse shrugged. “Blood for blood?”

 

“Yes,” Gus hissed, an excited glimmer appearing in his eyes. “When someone takes something precious from you, then it is your right to exact justice. Hector needed to understand this. This is how we deal with these matters. As men. And you do not flinch when it is time to do what is necessary.”

“How old was his daughter?” Jesse asked, holding Gus’s gaze.

 

He felt his heart beating in his ears while Gus studied him. “She was seventeen,” he answered gravely.

 

Jesse couldn’t come back with anything glib, and so remained silent, his momentary bravado already dissipating. Gus smacked him on the rump again. “Come. Let us clean up. I have a few things to take care of in my office, and then we can go for that walk.”

 

* * *

__

__

It was mid-afternoon when Gus went to find the boy.

 

He was sprawled out on the living room sofa, a bare foot hiked over the back, while he read from the book Gus had lent him. The front of the paperback was folded back and Pinkman held it up one-handed, the other arm tucked behind his head, his pose intimating that he was finally relaxed. The boy had been chatty with questions during the walk, so much so that Gus had appreciated the silence while he finished some work in his office.

 

“How are you doing?” he asked as he stepped into Pinkman’s view. “I hope the walk helped you feel a little more adjusted.”

 

“Yup,” the boy said flatly, not looking up from his book. “I took a nice, long shit earlier, so things have adjusted just fine.”

 

Gus balked at his vulgarity. “There’s no need for such crudeness. That was unnecessary.”

 

“Nah, it really was.” Pinkman glanced up at him in askance. “You are planning on putting something else up my butt before I leave, right?”

Eager to change the subject, Gus nodded to the book in Pinkman’s hand. “How are you liking this one?”

 

“Um, okay, I guess. The main guy’s kind of pathetic, though, and the brothers are dicks, but then everyone in the town sucks ass.”

 

“It is a relatively short read, but García Márquez says so much here. I’ve always found his language so effortless, so profound, yet one forgets he was also a master storyteller. My favorite line is about Santiago. _‘_ _He was healthier than the rest of us, but when you listened with the stethoscope you could hear the tears bubbling inside his heart_ _.’”_ Just quoting the words made Gus’s heart swell in his throat, the melancholy emotions it summoned palpable in the moment. “His prose is even more powerful in its original Spanish.”

 

“Yeah, well, I ain’t reading anything in Español just yet, so cool your jets, padre.”

Gus snapped the book from Pinkman’s grip. “I’m taking a shower downstairs. I’d like you to join me.”

 

The boy didn’t move, but his expression turned immediately leery. “I already took a shower earlier. I’m good.”

 

“That was this morning. Another one won’t hurt you.”

 

“What about the piercings?”

 

“What about them? They will be fine.”

 

“And after the shower – what’s gonna happen then?” Pinkman turned anxious, sitting upright. “You’re not going to bring out the needles again, are you? ‘Cause I don’t think I can deal –”

“There won’t be any needles. I want to introduce you to something new.”

 

The boy’s face fell. “Oh. Well, that makes me feel a whole lot better.”

 

Gus grew impatient. _“_ Come. You will get up now. Do not make me use force.”

 

The boy stood up in a hurry. “Fine. I’m going, alright?” He moved quickly into the next room and disappeared into the hallway, while Gus followed steadily behind him, stopping in the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. By the time Gus made it down the stairs, Pinkman had the door wide open and was standing just inside, his features hardened as he stared at the center of the room. Gus waltzed in and turned to where Pinkman gawked.

 

“What the hell is that?” he asked nervously as he jerked his chin towards the bar tethered to a ring hooked from the ceiling, looking like a contraption for a trapeze artist. Gus had come down earlier in the day while Pinkman napped and had dismantled the push-up bar to arrange his newly styled mobile. Pinkman would be the hanging artwork.

 

“As I said, we are doing something new.” It had been difficult for Gus to contain his eagerness until he felt the boy was ready, but time was now baiting him. He pushed the boy by the shoulders and directed him to the small bathroom. “Now let’s keep this shower brief.”

 

They came back out not ten minutes later, Gus still drying off Pinkman who shuffled in front of him, naked with arms crossed and looking even more unnerved. Gus slipped his wire frames over his ears and then took Pinkman by the wrist; drew him across the floor to where the bench sat on the sidelines, a coil of white rope gathered at one end.

“I’m getting tied up again?” Pinkman stared up at the ring in the ceiling as the bar lazily twirled around. “Is that gonna hold me?”

 

“It can hold double your weight,” Gus confirmed. “But first, I need you to turn around and fold your arms across your back.”

 

Gus pulled the length of the first rope from its pile, folded it in half then gripped the bight and proceeded to wrap the doubled rope around the boy’s chest. He worked quickly, the knots coming to him easily even though it had been some time. It had been a while since anyone had been worth the effort.

 

“I’m going to need you to lie on the ground, right over here,” Gus directed when he had the boy’s arms done. He positioned Pinkman prostrate under the bar and began to work on his legs. He spent the next forty minutes working silently, just a few intermittent grunts from Pinkman once his legs were pulled upwards. Gus leveraged the boy’s weight as he ran the rope over the bar and tugged on the other side. He worked with the feet first, the binds running from knees to ankles now being knotted away from the boy’s skin, then tied to each end of the beam. Pinkman twisted his inverted body so that he could hold his head up, swinging gently with his movements.

“What the fuck kind of macramé art project is this, Gus? What am I, the Christmas goose? I think you already plucked me plenty.”

 

Gus took hold of the dangling ropes at Pinkman’s back like the reins of a horse and fed them over the bar to drop to the other side, before moving to join them. He teased the ropes downwards then knotted them together to catch under his elbow as he pulled back, dropping to his knees with his feet planted to the carpet, watching Pinkman’s upper body slowly jerk its way higher until it was leveled out with the rest of him, a parallel line to the beam above.

_“_ _Jeeesus_ _._ This is _nuts_ ,” Pinkman groaned. “Can’t you ever do anything, like, _easy_? Why you gotta go to this much trouble for a fuck?”

 

“Anything worth doing will never be easy,” Gus responded. “You will eventually understand why.” He quickly knotted the excess rope at the ends and squeezed the cluster till it cinched the middle of the bar. Another line was run over it and knotted again to keep Pinkman centered, a thick strand connected to the harness at the boy’s chest and arms. The ropes that lassoed his thighs pulled to the creases between his legs and pelvis, causing the flesh of his ass to plump up. Gus smacked it a few times to see his handprint bloom on such fair skin, eliciting another groan from the boy.

By the time he was finished, Pinkman’s head drooped, looking like he might be asleep. His legs were spread by the bar, giving Gus a wide open berth with which to tend to the boy’s backside, and he leaned in to ease a thumb into Pinkman. The boy’s head shot up. “What are you doing?”

 

“Making sure you are still with me,” Gus replied. He slapped the boy’s ass again, much harder. “Stay alert, please.”

 

“Christ, I am, okay? I was just thinking. I don’t know how long it takes you to do this.”

Gus stood by Pinkman’s shoulder and tipped up the boy’s head by his chin, facing him in the mirrored wall. “We are done with the first part.” He twisted the boy’s body to the left and then to the right, showing off to Pinkman that he was completely and utterly encased in the extensive knot work. “Look at you. You are a marvel.” He ran his index finger inside the nylon rope at the boy’s chest. “How does this feel? Not too tight?”

 

“Yeah, it’s fine, whatever. But I _look_ like a _freak.”_

Gus ignored his outburst. “Good. The name of this harness is _ushiro takatekote._ A gentleman I knew who lived a few hours outside of Santiago taught me this when I was still with the CNI. It seems simple enough but it provides the foundation of any foray into suspension. You should be comfortable, so let me know if any of the ropes start to pinch or bother you.”

 

Pinkman stared up at him with an expression that mingled disbelief and canniness. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

 

Gus smiled, pleased with his work. “Now I have some items for you to wear.” Pinkman swore under his breath, his head lolling towards the carpet again. “Don’t go anywhere,” Gus teased in a sing-song voice, strolling to the closet near the bathroom door. He pulled out his tv cart, bedecked with a new assortment on its shelves, and rolled it to a mirrored corner.

 

“Ah, Christ, please tell me you’re not going to film this, too.”

 

His rejoinder was a terse, “But of course.” Gus slid the legs of the tripod to their full stance and connected the camera to the top, switching it on as soon as it clicked in its slot. He checked through the viewfinder and lined the lens up to his star subject; Pinkman’s face a study in consternation. A jewelry case was brought out of hiding, the length of its body suggesting a string of pearls lay inside, but when Gus peeled it open in front of Pinkman, the contents were decidedly more ominous. “This is for you. It will stay on for the duration.” The gag he had chosen wasn’t nearly as nasty as the one Pinkman had discovered the week before, but the boy recognized its use, his eyes going wide.

 

“Uhhhh, what is that for? Gus? Why – why do you have that? I – I’ve been good. Gus, please. I don’t need to wear that thing. Really.”

 

“That is for me to decide,” Gus reminded him. “It will be easier.” The boy was still skittish in some areas and the gag’s centerpiece – a thick metal ring – would keep his teeth in check.

 

But Pinkman implored him. “Look … _Gustavo._ Please. I – I mean I’ve got a pretty good idea where you’re going with this. Right? We’ve done … you know, everything else. At this point, I’m straight-up curious about it. Okay? I’ll do what you want me to. Just … don’t put that thing on me.”

 

Gus snapped the case shut, making the boy flinch. “Do not presume to know what I want,” he said stiffly.

 

“Seriously?” The boy’s distress lit into his face as he spoke frantically. “I’m dangling from the ceiling with my face swinging in front of your hard-on and you pull out _that._ There’s only one answer here, Gus. Just let me try it without that thing. I promise I’ll do it however you like. Yo, I’ve had a lot of girls suck me off. Like, _tons_ , man. I think I can figure it out.”

 

With an exhale bear-like and gruff, Gus put the case back on the stand, giving in to the boy’s request. The business side of his brain appreciated Pinkman’s attempts at negotiation. In the gag’s place, he pulled out a wide leather collar. “Fine. But you will wear this. And you will make sure to listen to everything I say and do as I ask. Is this understood?”

 

Pinkman swayed lightly as he hung from his ropes, virtually helpless, but a resignation still present in his features. “Yeah, of course, _thank you,_ Gustavo. Thank you,” he breathed in relief.

 

The collar was buckled to Pinkman’s neck, the leather stiff and bulky enough so that it covered his whole neck. There was a metal ring on the top notch at the back of it, and Gus tied a thin rope through it and ran it up to the mother knot, which had the advantage of keeping Pinkman’s head from drooping again. Gus went back to the closet and retrieved his newest disciplinary instrument, one much longer than he’d used before. As he was coming up behind Pinkman, the boy saw its reflection in the mirror and immediately started to jostle his binds.

 

“ _Uhhh_ … uhhhngh … what … what, no. Gus?”

 

Gus brought the end of the thin rod down on the flesh of Pinkman’s ass and the shout was instantaneous. He bounced the tip to the right mound of his bottom and then back again, hitting the boy just hard enough to burnish the skin into a bright red. The boy cried out again, but Gus continued, concentrating the cane’s tensile end to one side for a ten second interval of springy bounces then moving back to the other. Pinkman’s moans vibrated with the tapping as his body flumped and twisted in the ropes. When Gus stopped and walked to his side, Pinkman turned his head as far as the collar would allow in an attempt to catch Gus’s eyes.

 

“Gus, what are you gonna – ”

The cane lightly _thwapped_ upwards at a nipple and the shouts began in earnest all over again.

 

“I am simply working you up a bit,” he explained nonchalantly over the cries as he tapped the rattan down the length of Pinkman’s stomach. “Getting you ready for the weights.”

 

The boy continued to struggle until Gus stepped behind him and brought the cane down hard on his ass, and then there was a long gasp, a spluttering for air, and then a shuddering breath ending in a groaning sob. It was everything that Gustavo wanted to hear. The boy was a delight. He moved back to the tv stand where the cane was put aside and a new box opened, one quite hefty. The first iron teardrop was hung from Pinkman’s nipple, the clamp on the piercing inspiring more fervent vocalization.

“If you continue this way, I will use the open gag,” Gus threatened as he attached the second one, and the boy attempted to minimize his groans into short whines under pursed lips, the heaviness pulling each flat nipple to short udders. The last weight was dual iron balls at either end of a thin, hemp rope. Gus knelt under the boy’s groin, tugging on his scrotum to begin winding the rope at the top of it, while careful to avoid the studs in each testicle.

 

“Oh my God _, oh_ _my gawwd._ Gus. _Gustavo_ , please, it hurts. _”_

“That is the whole point,” Gus remarked with a sigh. He got up and stroked the boy’s warm ass, now featuring a series of red stripes fanned across pink skin. His steps were slow as he made his way to the boy’s head. Pinkman looked up with humbled eyes that seared into his, the evidence of Gus’s growing excitement a protrusion between them.

 

“Gus. Could you … could you at least tell me what you’re gonna do? To prepare me? I’m – I’m sorry if I’m freaking out. If I could just,”

 

“Open your mouth.”

 

The boy’s chest heaved in his binds as he stared unblinking at Gus for several seconds. Slowly, his mouth widened as he tilted back, the offering acknowledged with a steely glint in his eyes.

 

Gus held fast to Pinkman’s head, thankful that the boy’s hair had grown enough that he had something to grasp in his fingers. As he slid his girth between the boy’s lips, a great breath filled Gus, his lungs expanding with the force of it.

“Wider,” he insisted as he nudged in deeper. “You need to concentrate on loosening the muscles in your throat.” There was a muffled note from the boy as his mouth was stretched and stuffed, his eyes strained closed. “Do not worry about technique right now. I am more interested in depth,” he continued, as Pinkman tried to rear his head back. Gus pushed deeper as he held Pinkman tightly, felt the boy’s throat begin to convulse around him, the thick gurgled sound of him beginning to choke preceding a lurch in the ropes. Pinkman started to buck, grew panicked, and Gus pulled out of him to let the boy breathe in wet, fitful gasps.

_“_ _Christ!_ What the …” Pinkman started to gag again. “You ever heard of starting off slow?” he moaned.

 

“It is not so easy, ‘uh? Now you can appreciate what women go through for your pleasure. Let’s see if you can handle what you expect them to master.” He held up Pinkman’s head by his hair. “I want to see your eyes looking at me while I fuck your throat. You keep them on me always. Do you understand?”

Pinkman nodded solemnly, his expression guarded. Gus pressed the mouth open again and the boy remained still, his breaths mounting as Gus slid in again, but his gaze never wavering from Gus’s face. “Press your tongue down, curve your lips,” Gus directed, the boy complying. “Breathe slowly and relax the muscles. Yes, stay like this, don’t move.” He felt the boy swallow and pushed in before the seizing clutch of his throat devolved into a choking fit again, the boy’s eyes sprung wide like a china doll’s.

 

He stepped away, let the boy get his breath back. “I said we are going to try something new. I am going to show you now, but I want you to remain calm.”

 

More hacking coupled with rasping gasps. “I thought that’s what we were doing.”

 

Gus reached for the bottled water by the television and uncapped it. He tipped it towards Pinkman’s mouth and let him drink from the plastic nozzle. “You respond well to _…_ _motivation._ I think this will help you.”

 

The boy said nothing as he waited for Gus to expound. When the metal case was brought out by its handle, Pinkman followed its trip to the floor in front of him with deep suspicion. Gus knelt down, unlatched the two locks at the top of the case and opened it with a dramatic flair. The sponge bed inside held the case’s objects in molded foam as if they were an assassin’s tools. Instantly – as Gus had predicted – Pinkman stirred in agitation.

 

“Uhhhh, what the hell. What the _fuck_. That … you cannot be serious with that,” Gus began to shush him quietly but the boy’s anxiety increased as he struggled spasmodically in his suspension. _“_ Nah, man _,_ no way – that’s like, too far, Gus. Please. I mean, Jesus, I can’t … I can’t. Oh my _God_ – ”

 

“Stop this,” Gus said harshly. “No more of this. I need you to stay calm; fighting your restraints is not wise. This is not what you think.”

Pinkman started to blubber. “It’s not what I think?” His voice hitched, turning to a shriek the more hysterical he became. “What am I supposed to think?! It’s got fucking wires! Oh, god, please … Gustavo,” he broke down in a terrified sob. _“_ _Please._ Don’t do this to me. Don’t shock me. I’ll be good. I promise. I’ll suck your dick, I’ll deep throat it until you tear me up, Jesus – I’ll – I’ll eat your ass out all fucking night if you want me to, just don’t … oh God, don’t do this.”

The boy’s fear upset Gus. He had no use for him falling apart like this, but he was bothered by how affected he felt by the display. He put a hand soothingly against Pinkman’s cheek, attempted to shush him into a submissive state. “There, there. Settle down. You need to listen to me. Jesse? Calm down and listen to my voice.” The boy tried to get a handle on his emotions as he quieted down, letting Gus stroke him with long glides of his fingers. Gus held the boy’s face in his hands, tipped it up to stare deep into Pinkman’s eyes.

 

“This is nothing like the stories I told you about my past. I promise you. These instruments are designed for the body’s stimulation. This is a fetish that many engage in. It can be quite intense, but the goal is to achieve a certain state of nirvana through punishment to the senses. There is pain, but we are getting you acclimated to its benefits. I said I would never give you more than you can handle, and I meant that. The voltage we use will never be high enough to harm you.” He pointed down to the control box nestled in its grey cloud of foam. “I have made a few moderations, but … we will start slow. I won’t go above the midpoint notch today.”

 

He knelt down by the open case and nodded to Pinkman encouragingly. “I will even let you pick which instrument we will use today.” The boy appeared to turn paler at the suggestion, his expression sickly. “Although,” Gus cautioned, “I offer the caveat that we disregard these prongs and the electrodes for now. We should keep the current to inside the body, in order to avoid your new jewelry. Pick whichever shape you would prefer.”

It was quiet for a long moment as Gus waited. There was a deep sob in Pinkman’s throat but he cut it off with a swallow, closing his eyes as he moved his lips to mutter something silently. Finally, he opened them and directed his gaze into Gus, the blue of his eyes as sharp as the ocean’s floor. “The short one,” he croaked with some difficulty.

 

The metal plug was pulled from its indentation, looking quite unimposing. Gus had wanted to use the longer ribbed model, but he acknowledged that the boy needed some time to work to that place. Wires were connected from its base to the control unit, the tip of the plug coated with a gel that worked as the conductor. When he stood behind Pinkman to insert it, he stroked the boy first, still cooing to him as the boy’s muscles tensed, his body trembling under Gus’s hand. “It will be all right,” he assured. “Relax. Listen to my voice.”

 

Reaching down, he kissed the boy’s red streaked bottom, moved to the middle to lick at him. The boy started, sounded a hiccup of fear. Gus pressed deeper and let his tongue penetrate Pinkman. When he straightened up, he pressed the squat metal body in place, pushed until the boy took it to the base. He walked back around to the boy’s head, made sure to lay the wires along Pinkman's back to keep it away from all of the silver at the other end. He held the control box in his hands as he stood in front of Pinkman.

 

“There is considerable heat once it starts. The tingling sensations gain intensity as the voltage is increased, but if it ever starts to burn too much, you must tell me. Is this understood?” The boy scrunched up his face in anguish and attempted to turn away, but Gus held him, kept his head centered. “Look at me, Jesse. Tell me that you understand.” Pinkman nodded vehemently and Gus stroked his forehead with affection. “I know you can do this, Jesse. I know that, deep-down, you want to please me.”

The first signs that the charge was being felt came with the lowing sound of Pinkman’s moans. He twitched as Gus turned the knob slightly, his mouth open as he began panting. “What you feel now – this should be tolerable at this level. But we need to establish a baseline. I am going to take it up higher and you let me know when it becomes too much.” The boy’s eyes were closed, and he almost looked serene for a moment, but as Gus increased the charge, the numbers on the digital readout climbing in blinking beats, Pinkman’s moans ratcheted to something more assertive, a trumpeting scream sounding against teeth, and his mouth a grim line. Gus brought the wattage back down until Pinkman cried out, now breathing hard and fast, his body vibrating with his tremors.

 

“Gus … Gus … oh shit, _aw fuck_ ,” he croaked in hoarse bursts, looking dazed.

 

Gus stroked fingers across Pinkman’s cheek and then brought them up under his chin, tilting his head up once more. “Very good. Now open your mouth for me again.”

* * *

__

It was over an hour later before Gus finally began unhooking Pinkman from the suspension bar. The boy had come hard – his seed sprayed on the carpet and spattered on his belly – and was still babbling incoherently to Gus as he was lowered in starts. His body was soaked with sweat, glistening under the lights as if he’d been birthed, or rolled through petroleum, while drool ran from his chin. Once he had Pinkman to the floor, he inspected the anal plug while Pinkman panted hard enough to cause a blackout. He spoke to him soothingly as he rested a hand on the small of the boy’s back and watched the metal base continue its pulse in Pinkman’s ass, the body’s contractions like a babe’s mouth nursing its pacifier. He leaned on the boy, pressed himself to Pinkman’s back and kissed a shoulder. “You did well,” he purred. “We’re going to go upstairs, as soon as I get you out of your binds.” He was met with silence in return. “What do you say?” he asked with a firm tone.

“Thank you,” the boy gasped.

 

Gus whistled an old tune as he untied the ropes around Pinkman’s limbs – one that his father used to favor, instilling a mixture of fear and longing in young Gustavo whenever he'd heard it. When the boy’s arms were free, Gus stretched them out, tugged them at the wrist over his head, and moved them around to circulate the blood. He rubbed the backs of his legs as Pinkman set off tiny whimpers, his chest still heaving. After a while he pressed at Pinkman’s hip and prompted him to move.

 

“Up on your knees. We are going upstairs.”

 

The boy looked back at him over a shoulder. “Aren’t you going to take that thing out?” he asked with a voice so scratchy that he sounded as if he’d just smoked an entire carton of cigarettes in one sitting.

 

“I am not,” Gus confirmed. Tentatively, the boy got on his knees, began to sit up. “No,” Gus said as he pressed a hand to the skull tattoo. “Stay on your knees and on your hands. We’re going upstairs like this.” Pinkman moved to all fours, but stared ahead at the mirror in confusion, as if he hadn’t heard Gus properly. Gus picked up the control box from the floor and switched the channel to a higher frequency, eliciting an immediate yelp from the boy as his back arched and his head rolled back. “Turn around,” Gus instructed and the boy quickly shuffled on his hands and knees until he faced the door. “Now let us go up to my room.”

 

Pinkman started a slow crawl, his movements jerky as he made his way forward. His expression was miserable as he looked back at Gus. “What about these clamps, Gus,” he asked, but Gus shook his head and Pinkman turned back to his crawl, the two wires leading from Pinkman’s ass to the electric unit in Gus’s hands, while the weights dragged along the carpet. He opened the door for the boy and when they came to the foot of the stairs, Pinkman stared up at him again with a beseeching plea in his eyes.

 

“Go on,” Gus encouraged. “You can make it.”

 

Pinkman put his hand on the first step and paused, seemed to be lost in another daze. Gus turned the dial up and the boy’s back slunk low, his belly almost to the floor, as a prolonged screech stemmed from his throat. Gus eased the charge and the boy clambered quickly up the steps, his knee bashing into one. He kept moving, with Gus following a step behind. They were halfway through the hallway when he began to slow down and Gus twiddled the knob instantly. Pinkman dropped to the floor and shouted into the carpet. It happened again as they made their way up the second staircase to the upstairs floor and this time Pinkman called out Gus’s name in triplet, but he never asked him to stop.

By the time they were in Gus’s room, the boy was in a state. He was shaking hard but he still waited on all fours in front of the bed. “In position,” Gus barked, and the boy got up on his knees, his hands moving behind his head. Gus knelt down beside him, began removing the weights from the boy’s balls first, before moving to the clamps at each nipple. The boy stayed in place but long, open-mouthed groans sounded with each reduction of weight. Gus unbuckled the collar at Pinkman’s neck and the boy breathed a heavy sigh of relief as it was peeled away.

 

“Climb on the bed,” Gus commanded and the boy practically leapt to the mattress, shifting back to all fours. As soon as Gus released the anal plug, Pinkman started to cry softly, his shoulders shaking as his head bent. Gus stroked his back, along his sides, down his legs, full of shushes and croons. He climbed up behind Pinkman, molded his body to the younger man’s, began kissing his neck, licking his ear, reaching over to grip the boy’s jaw in his teeth. “Do you know what I want to do to you now?” he growled in Pinkman’s ear, his erection raging as he pressed it heavily to the boy’s backside.

 

Pinkman’s answer was low and throaty, barely above a whisper. “Fuck me?”

 

“Speak louder,” Gus said firmly.

 

“You want to fuck me,” the boy repeated in a strong voice.

Gus brought his hand to bear on the back of Pinkman’s head, stretching fingers outward to its full span as if he might crush the skull under his grip. “Do you want me to do this?” he asked. Pinkman only nodded.

 

“Tell me,” Gustavo insisted, his accent at its thickest.

 

“I want you to,” the boy said gruffly.

 

“Want me to what?”

 

The boy peered at him over his shoulder. “I want you to make me come even harder than you did downstairs, Gustavo.”

 

A joyous laugh bubbled up into Gus’s chest, but he kept it tamped down, gazing into the boy’s blue eyes with every ounce of self-control in effect. “Roll over on your back.” The bed jostled as he flopped to the bed and shifted his body until he was staring up at Gus.

 

“Do you want me to suck your cock again, Gustavo?” Those eyes were so big.

 

“I want you to kiss me.” The boy leaned up on his elbows, put a nervous palm to Gus’s throat and then reached over to press soft lips to Gus’s mouth. It felt electric, and Gus couldn’t hold back any longer. Instantly, he was on the boy, hands holding his head, lips crushing his, tongues locked together, while their slicked bodies writhed against each other. But Gus wanted to grant the boy’s request, and after a minute, he pushed himself off with a gasp.

 

“Spread your legs,” he hissed. Pinkman’s legs shot out to either side of him, his body still shaking visibly. “Stay like this, don’t move,” Gus insisted.

 

He fiddled with the wire rims of his glasses in a slippery grasp before he ran to the closet and flicked on its light, illuminating the small room with more brightness than Gus was prepared for. The drawers at the end were pulled open with frenzied haste as Gus searched for what he wanted. He found them in two different drawers, but then Gustavo was racing back to his bed. He dropped across Pinkman, wrapped arms at his sides as he kissed the boy’s chest and down his stomach. The boy had been hard since the trek up the stairs and as it bobbed in front of Gus, he desperately wanted to take its entire length in his mouth, the rows of barbells down the underside of the boy’s prick taunting him. It was growing dark outside and the snatches of silver glinted in the remaining light of the room. But the tip was free of piercings and Gus turned on the bulky vibrator in his hand and pressed it to the sponge-like softness of the boy’s slit. In a flash, Pinkman cried out, arching his back and canting his hips off the bed. Gus pushed a hip back down and held it as he rubbed the heavy body of the vibrator over and over the head of Pinkman’s cock to his rapturous gasps. He moved it to the boy’s asshole and Pinkman screamed loudly, bucking his entire body off the bed this time. Gus threw it to down and smashed his face to where the vibrator had just been, stiffening his tongue to fuck the boy with it feverishly. The boy’s shouts were now fully formed words that boomed, _yes, yes, yes._

Gus got back on top of the boy, feeling dizzy but powerful, holding his wrist aloft where a strand of black rubber beads curled around it like a bracelet. “Do you know what this is?” he asked. The boy’s expression was wantonly lush as he nodded, eyelids drooped low. An application of lube doused the first few beads and then Gus started to feed each one into the boy. Pinkman raised himself up lazily on his elbows again, leaned over to watch its progression while Gus worked, seemingly fascinated as his body swallowed up each bubble, the strand getting shorter. Halfway in and the boy was breathing heavy again, his head tipping back as he began to moan.

 

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” Gus noted and the boy nodded with more vehemence as his mouth fell open, his face ecstatic. “The nerves are still snapping away, your body in a heightened phase. You will feel like this for a while.” He wanted to take advantage of every second of it. Once the strand of beads was fully inside the boy, he slapped the cap to the boy’s anus, and as the boy vocalized his appreciation, he smacked him a few more times.

 

“Oh, God. Spank me again _, please._ ” The request was breathy and quiet but Gustavo heard every word. His hand froze above the boy’s ass.

 

“Turn over. Get up on your knees again,” he directed. Pinkman moved slower this time, but he rolled to his belly and slid up on shaky legs, presenting his bottom to Gus. The first open palmed slap received a staccato whine. When Gus did it again, he aimed for the middle again, his hand downturned so that the heel hit bone. It throbbed with the strike but the boy leaned his head down and raised his ass higher, another long wispy moan exiting the perfect O of his mouth. Gus scooted to the side of the boy and bent over him, cupping Pinkman’s waist as he brought his hand down again and again like he was playing a set of bongos. The boy’s groans started to rise, his knees inching outwards until the legs were spread and Gustavo felt another powerful tide rush through him.

 

“Stay like this.” His voice had gone hoarse. “Do not move.”

 

He rushed back to the closet, marched to the end of it and ripped the first paddle within reach off the wall. When he came back, the boy was still posed for him, and the paddle came down without warning. Pinkman yelled in surprise, but as Gus brought it down in swooping urgency, the boy swept up his ass to meet the polished wood. For a while, the only sounds were the steady slap of flesh and Pinkman’s rolling moans into the bedsheets.

 

“This belongs to me,” Gus sighed in a gust of breath as he stopped to rub a hand over the reddened paint smears of Pinkman’s bottom.

 

“Okay,” the boy heaved through his panting breaths.

 

“Only I will punish you. Only I can change you.” He left the paddle on the bed and slapped Pinkman once more with a throbbing hand. “Sit up. I want you to face the mirror.”

The boy straightened up on wobbly knees and turned his body towards the end of the bed, the tail of the beads sprouting from between thighs. Gus came up behind him, pressed the boy’s shivering back to him as he curled an arm around his chest possessively. He leaned in to the boy’s neck, kissed the rapid, fluttery pulse there and followed the slickened skin to his cheek. Pushing the boy’s face from the other side, he turned him so that their mouths could meet, Gus suckling the plumped, dry lips with his teeth. The boy kissed back with a sweetness lit from within him that shook Gustavo, made him want to crawl inside this boy and nestle by his heart.

 

He led Pinkman by the chin to turn forward so that they could see each other through the mirror. “Look at you,” Gus hissed with awe. “Look at what you are.” He stroked down the boy’s chest, pinched a nipple hard until Pinkman jutted his pelvis with a welcoming groan. The boy’s erection was now stiff enough that it pointed straight up, the head bumping back against his stomach, and Gus ran a finger up through the center of each barbell along the frenulum, the four pins shining brightly in the glow of the closet, while dusk seeped through the room. He barely stroked over the silver balls positioned on either side of the crown and the boy’s breath hitched in anticipation.

 

“We can do more, if you like,” Gus suggested, spreading his hand to rub up and down the boy’s sternum. “Wherever you want. Perhaps in the tongue?” The boy didn’t answer him but turned his head to the side for another kiss, his tongue seeking Gus’s first. Gus wanted him desperately, draped an arm across the boy’s waist and pulled him back. With a grunt, the boy dropped to the bed, holding on to the edge of the frame, as Gus positioned his body, spread his legs as he prepared to fuck him. The beads were pulled out partially and the boy squirmed, the sounds from his throat a persistent throaty whine, but Gus stopped after a few were released and pushed it down like a lever, pressing the engorged head of his prick to the boy’s _poto_ _._

“G-Gus. What are you doing?” the boy croaked, the voice sounding odd in the silence of the room. But the shockwaves from the electric stimulation would still be felt and Gus knew the boy was as malleable as he was ever going to get.

 

“Don’t worry. This will feel good.” He pushed in slowly, the underside of his cock rubbing along the beads providing him as much pleasure as the boy was receiving, judging by the harsh cries growing in volume. Gus worried about the noise, glancing to the window, and reached over to press a hand to the boy’s mouth as he pushed the last of the way in. The boy’s trilling shouts against his palm thrummed through the splints of his fingers, as Gus began to fuck the boy in earnest, holding on to Pinkman’s waist as he pulled him back in shallow thrusts. The boy felt wild underneath him, moving to match him in speed as their bodies slammed into the other, and Gus felt a rush in his ears, felt his heart pound like running hooves. He had to stop for a moment before his head exploded, and he pressed the boy still.

 

“Why’d you stop,” the boy gasped.

 

“You do the work,” Gus replied, just as breathy. “Let me see you fuck yourself on my _pico_ , until I say you can stop. _¡Deprisa!_ _”_

The boy was still at first, but as he pushed back tentatively, Gus smacked the side of his ass again, eliciting a favorable vowel. Instantly, the boy’s thrusts sped up. Gus shifted on his knees so he could lean back slightly, slipped off his glasses and reached over to toss them on the nightstand as he watched the boy’s ass take his cock, the base of it appearing and disappearing in a shutter’s speed. Pinkman’s body was soon a blur, and Gus watched in the mirror as the boy’s mouth opened to one long litany of expressive sounds, sighs and grunts, dropping to a growl as he thrust in abandon. After a bit, his face fell to the bed, smeared it across the sheets as he slowed down, exhaustion quivering through him.

“Gus, I wanna come, holy fuck, I need to, please.” He twisted his head to turn back to Gus, his cries ragged. “Please, Gustavo … I – I _can’t_ _._ I can’t do it. Do that thing,” he begged in a breathy plea.

 

Seeing the boy like this, delirious with desire and want, he felt transported, thought of Eladio’s _capos_ dropping all around the pool, how gigantic and powerful he’d felt as he walked out onto the deck. Pinkman picking up the gun, brandishing it with determination as he’d reeled from the carnage. The boy by his side as he’d held Gus up and protected him all the way to the car. He wasn’t about to let Pinkman go.

 

“On your back. Spread your legs,” he issued in terse bullets as he eased out of the boy. Pinkman sucked in a long, stunned breath. “Arms over your head. Hold on to the bed frame.”

 

The boy did as he was told, squeezing his eyes shut as Gus started to tug on the beads. He got a good grip and slid them out like a ripcord, relishing the boy’s scream. His erection was painful at this point, the throbbing of muscle reverberating in his head. He pushed at the boy’s thighs with one hand, the other patting around the top of the mattress until it bumped into the vibrator and he flicked it on. “ _Oh God_ ,” the boy got out before Gus had it back on the tip of his dick and the reaction was instantaneous and glorious. Gus was as frantic as Pinkman now, shoving fingers into the boy as his undulating moans rose to a crescendo, stretching the boy viciously. He worked in a fourth finger and roared with triumph, immediately pistoning them until Pinkman couldn’t speak, choked in apoplexy as he was fucked mercilessly. Gus brought the vibrator down below his balls, right on the hoop of the _guiche_ and the scream that burst from Pinkman’s lungs was surely loud enough to wake the dead. For a brief second Gus thought of the neighbors again, wondering if he should gag the boy, but then he had a vision of Jerry on his porch hearing them, knowing that this beautiful boy was creating this chorus under Gus’s hands and he pressed on.

“Gu-gus- _Gussss_ _.”_ The guttural call of his name made Gus look up, saw madness in the boy’s face, eyes rolling, hair plastered to his skull. “Coming, coming now,” he hiccupped in groans.

“Wait!” Gus commanded, climbing up and on the boy, the vibrator abandoned. He gripped under Pinkman’s knees and pushed them back, all the way down, until he pressed them to the bed on either side of Pinkman’s ears.

 

“OH MY GAWWWD!!!” Pinkman roared as Gus entered him again, pressing his toes on the bed as he started to pummel the boy like he was pushing to the end of a vigorous workout. There was no outside, only this pocket of space, this wormhole of the boy’s voice and the silky heat encasing Gus until he felt the room swell, imagined the façade of the house bloating.

_“_ _Pleeeeease,_ ” Pinkman droned and Gus watched his eyes roll back in his head, eyelids fluttering madly, froth at the sides of his mouth.

 

“Keep your mouth open. Let me see your tongue,” Gus bullied. He held the boy’s prick and ran a finger over the bubbling slit as the boy flashed his tongue, closing his eyes in reverence as the spurts began. Thick white globules speckled Pinkman’s adoring face, landing on lashes and on a cheek, while most of it was directed to the waiting mouth. Gus’s arousal was driven anew as he watched the milky pool form on wriggling pink, and then the overwhelming sensation hit his back to run straight to his balls. “Don’t swallow!” he demanded in a panic. “Keep your mouth open.”

As he pulled out from Jesse, throwing his legs down so that he could straddle his chest, Gus pressed down on the boy’s fevered forehead and held his cock over the boy’s mouth as he jerked it aggressively, crying out as he watched his release spew into that maw, a stream that coalesced with the boy’s own issue. As he finished, he snapped the boy’s jaw shut and made him swallow, stroking a hand down Pinkman’s neck to follow it down to his throat. He lay on the boy, their hearts pounding against each other like warring drums. There was only the sound of their panting breaths, but then suddenly, the boy dropped his hands to his face with a sob. Gustavo felt the boy quake under him, heard him weep with so much sadness that he wanted only to curl around him, to protect him from anything that might hurt him. And in another startling moment, he felt the boy wrap himself around Gus, arms clinging to his neck, as the boy’s legs gripped below his waist. The sobs burst anew and Gus held him tighter.

_“_ _Mi cielo,_ _”_ Gus murmured to him, nuzzling his lips against the beating pulse in Pinkman’s throat.

 

It took almost a half hour to calm the boy down and let him drift into sleep. The night was upon them, the clock on Gus’s right blaring dangerous red numbers that indicated it was almost seven. He curled around the boy tighter and breathed him in, and Gus realized with wonder that he hadn’t thought of Maximino once the entire time.

 

* * *

__

 

“What?!”

 

Jesse sat up in bed with a start. He was under heavy covers, but he knew instantly that he wasn’t in his bed. Yet he wasn’t sure where he was at, even what day it was. Darting eyes around the shadowy blackness of the room, he let out a soldiering breath as Gus’s presence was felt in every molecule around him. He rubbed at his face with a shaking hand and looked for the clock on the nightstand. Shimmering numbers told him it was almost 9:30. Jesse blinked at the digital lines as they blurred before him. He was supposed to be gone by now. He shouldn’t be here. A thought breached his muddled brain that maybe Andrea had called back finally, that she needed him, but then everything that had happened since Gus took him down to the gym came slamming back into his body, with pops of color and shapes, snapshots of the action parading in front of him, and he shuddered so violently he thought he might pass out.

 

He had to get out of this house. There was muffled music coming from downstairs and Jesse shot a glance to the wall, wondering where Gus might be lying in wait.

 

Jesse got dressed quickly in the bathroom, not even bothering to turn on the lights. He was working on pure adrenaline now, his body so physically exhausted he could only think of it as an ephemeral notion in order to move. He tiptoed through the dark and cracked open the door to let in the warm soft light of the hallway. If he could get to the door without Gus seeing him, he would be thrilled. The house breathed with Gus, Jesse felt him on his skin, tasted him, and Jesse desperately willed himself home already, to the safety of his own shower.

 

The stairs creaked as he made his way down on fleet bare feet. His shoes and socks were by the door where they’d been left since the night before. Jesse could almost see them, the foyer so close. He picked up his shoes and was about to touch the door when someone cleared their throat and Jesse froze in his tracks.

 

“You’re leaving?” he heard. Jesse turned around, affixed the closest approximation of a smile he could muster on his face.

 

“Yeah. It’s, like, kind of late. Past the time I was supposed to go. Why didn’t you wake me?” he asked gently, his throat raw. He sounded like shit.

 

“I thought you could use the rest. You look exhausted.” Gus held a glass of wine in his hand, looking thoroughly relaxed in a brocaded gold and maroon robe and silk pajama pants, thick velour slippers on his feet.

 

Jesse breathed in deeply, feeling his panic coming on. “Yeah. Well, I’m fine now.” He bent down and slipped on his socks, toed on his shoes without slipping up the backs. “I’d better hightail it out of here. I’m kind of late for something.”

 

Gus started to walk towards him and Jesse shrunk back, felt the door press up behind him. He was afraid of what would happen if Gus touched him, afraid of what he might become. His whorey screams rang in his head and Jesse curled a hand around the doorknob at his hip, ready to bolt if necessary. The man stepped up close and pressed his hands to Jesse’s shoulders.

 

“Well, good night then.” He leaned in for a kiss, just a light press of his mouth to Jesse’s and for a second, Jesse felt airless, his lungs squeezing as he felt ready to gawp like a fish on dry land. Gus let go of him and stepped back, something new and demure in his eyes that Jesse couldn’t identify. “Remember to take proper care of the piercings. Wear something light and airy for the next week, keep the area dry. And,” he jutted his chin as pointed towards Jesse’s groin. “You should put some more cream on your backside before you go to bed tonight. I can give you mine, if you’d like,” he offered pleasantly.

 

“Nah, I’m good. I barely feel anything, so … yeah, I gotta go.”

 

He let himself out into the night air and closed the door behind him, his lungs decompressing with a great gust of breath. The chill of the evening swept against his skin, bracing him, and Jesse tucked the back’s of his shoes on before racing across the walkway and sprinting to his car.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, all, for the great notes. 
> 
> The book Gus quotes is _Chronicle of a Death Foretold_ by Gabriel García Márquez
> 
> Also, just to lighten things up, here is a clip of Giancarlo Esposito being adorablllllleee and talking about his take on Gus Fring and what he'd like to see if they ever made The Rise of Gus - which, lbr, I would have been so much more psyched for than Better Call Saul.  
> http://youtu.be/1yWdmLe9_vE


	26. The Damage

 

 

 _So where do we stand? Where do we stand with the thing, the thing that you were supposed to do? I assumed that you haven’t done it_.

 

 

 

                It was still morning when Gus went into his office to set his appointment calendar in order for the week. He carried his coffee in one hand, bagel in the other, a newspaper tucked under an arm. The sun was brightening outside of his window, but Gus had been up for hours already, taking his run while the dawn was still looming. He’d been particularly meditative since awakening, the boy on his mind as soon as he’d opened his eyes.

 

                Jesse.

 

                There was a growing affection for the young man that Gus hadn’t anticipated, but it was there now and he had to acknowledge that whatever dependence he had attempted to cultivate in Jesse had wormed its way into him, as well. He had stirred from his sleep with a lingering image of the boy’s face from a dream, smelled Jesse all over his sheets, and a yearning leapt in him, made him crave waking up to the warmth and solidity of the boy’s body. In the next breath, he had berated himself for getting sentimental in his old age, and the sourness of not having Jesse there drove him out of his bed.

 

                Sitting at his desk, Gus first tended to his computer, turning his monitor on as he shuffled through some invitations in his mail. Once he was logged in, he instantly turned on the surveillance system, checking each feed from the cameras outside. He clicked back through the log of the evening, clicking indiscriminately at various points of the film to scout the street for any unrecognizable cars. When he was done reviewing the security around the perimeter of the house, he clicked it over to Jesse’s camera. The boy was still in bed asleep, a lone dark figure in the pointilated black and white of his room. Gus went back to his calendar and took a sip of his coffee, leaving the camera feed on in the background. He had a dinner function that evening hosted by one of the professors at the university, but Gus thought of the video he had waiting for him downstairs, a nice diversion for him to come home to.

 

                It had been possibly only a quarter hour that had transpired when Gus saw Jesse moving out of the corner of his eye. He turned back to the monitor, saw the boy stretch and roll to his other side, hunched over into an embryonic curl. He didn’t move again for a while, and Gus had assumed he’d fallen back asleep, had gone back to concentrating on his letters when Jesse turned again and picked up his phone. He stopped midway of dropping back to his bed, staring at the face of it, spent several seconds flipping it around between his fingers hypnotically when suddenly his body slammed upright ramrod straight. Gus was intrigued; watched the boy just sit there for a few more minutes staring at the object in his hand. He tapped a key to get a zoom on Jesse’s face, the rest of the room blocked out so that only the bed was in the frame. Jesse would blink at one side of his room, his eyebrows deeply furrowed over a studious expression, then turn to the other. He did this several times, sweeping his gaze across the expanse of the room slowly.

 

                Something tickled the back of Gus’s neck and he had just reached across the desk to grab the phone he used for Mike, when the boy finally got out of bed. Jesse stood for a moment, in his long board shorts and an oversized tee depicting a skull with a lolling tongue, but in a sudden movement, he picked up the lamp next to his bed and smashed it against the wall – the ceramic base shattered and dropped to the floor, wires hanging from its remaining hull. The boy tipped it to look inside and Gus sat up straighter, flipped up the receiver of the phone and quickly scrolled to Mike’s name. As he watched the screen, Jesse knocked over his bedside stand, dropped to the floor to inspect underneath it. He heard him grunt as he pushed it away and went for the bed, dragging it away from the wall and scurrying behind the frame. He slapped his hands to the wood, to each corner and down the back, coming out from behind with a dangerous look in his face, picking up his phone from the floor and ripping open its back. The SIM card was pulled free and broken in half, the pieces tossed to the floor. Gus tapped the zoom back so he could see Jesse leaving the room, his footsteps pounding past the door.

 

                Gus waited breathlessly, his bagel and coffee forgotten as the clock on the wall ticked the time away. A few minutes later, Gus heard the footsteps returning with determination, and when Jesse stepped into the room, he held a large knife in his hands, a pair of pliers and a screwdriver grasped together in the other. The mattress was attacked first, pulled off the bed springs until it was askew, half off and half on the floor. Jesse pushed at it to lift up one side, his grunts loud and angry now, and once he checked between the two halves, he shoved the knife into the top layer and sliced it down the center. Using his hands, he ripped at the outer fabric, looking for something in its skeleton, but quickly giving up and moving on to the next thing. Gus watched him destroy the room, heard Jesse shout in victory when he found the first bug, the sound cutting out a second later. Mike’s name was punched, the screen on his phone switching to the number and a bell ringing icon. Jesse was in the midst of pulling out all of the drawers in his dresser and tossing the clothes to the floor when Mike finally answered.

 

                “Yeah?”

 

                “We may have a problem. I need you to get Tyrus and meet me at the restaurant parking lot in forty five minutes.” The phone clicked as Mike hung up.

 

                By then, the drawers were all on the floor, haphazardly strewn over each other, clothes everywhere, and when the boy started to pull the dresser away from the wall, Gus grit his teeth in disappointment. The mirror attached to its frame shook as Pinkman shoved it towards the bed. When he turned back, Gus had a close-up of his face, saw the dawning in his eyes once he realized what he was looking at secured in the wall. Jesse mouthed profanities, clearly and with relish, and even though Gus could no longer hear him, he had a very good idea of what the boy was saying. For a brief moment, Jesse disappeared, but then came back around the body of the dresser with something in hand.

 

                He recognized the screwdriver the second before it was wielded like a dagger into the camera. The feed started to break up, the static snow cutting into the picture, and Gus had one last chance to see Jesse’s rage filled face as the screwdriver was dashed towards the screen once more.

 

                Then everything went black.

 

******

 

               

                Walter hurried along the street, Junior’s Isotopes cap pulled low over his eyes as he glanced around the neighborhood. He’d parked several blocks away, having made sure he didn’t have Tyrus or Mike on his tail before heading for Jesse’s house. He made a right at Los Alamos and hustled his way past driveways as fast as he was able without drawing suspicion. Walt was anxious. Jesse hadn’t called him after the supposed dinner with Fring, and Walt had tried calling him all day Saturday to no avail. It was exasperating how little Jesse had communicated to him since the re-connection in the car, but Walt should have come to expect it by now. Regardless of how serious matters had become, Jesse was still prone to his petulant fits, and if the last phone call had been any indication, he was feeling a bit too full of himself, feeling his oats as Gus’s new man.

 

                He arrived at the brown stucco house he’d seen from the back of Jesse’s porch and stopped to check either side of the street. The motoring buzz of a lawn mower echoed around the block, but Walter didn’t spot anyone out on their front lawns. A graveled side road ran between the brown stucco and its neighboring house and Walter quickly ducked down the path with speedy intent. He had to climb over the adobe wall of Jesse’s property, and he almost landed on a trash can before catching his footing and dropping rather ungracefully to the concrete. The grounds were neat again, the litter that had been strewn everywhere on his last visit through the back way having since been cleared. Walter ran up the short tier of steps to the door and started to bang on it with the flat of his palm.

 

                “Jesse!” he called, smacking at the wood again. He darted a glance to the yards on either side of Jesse’s, on the lookout for any of Fring’s goons. “Jesse,” he repeated in a quieter voice. He ducked his head back, stepping away far enough to look up to the windows to see if he could spot any movement when there was no answer. Walt was about to go hunting for an open window again when he instinctively tried the doorknob, surprised when it turned in his hand.

 

                “Jesse?” He moved into the dark kitchen and flicked on a light.

 

                The first thing he noticed was the state of the drawers. Every one of them was opened.

 

                The slim line of the telephone on the tiled counter was toppled over, its cord ripped out of the wall with the plate still attached. But it was when Walt walked to the front room of the house that he started to get panicked. “Jesse!” His voice rang through the house yet there was still no answer. He hadn’t been in this room since his fight with Jesse, the damage from that night no longer evident. But something else had happened. The cushion from the futon was dragged to the floor. The sentries of Jesse’s stereo system were pulled apart, the speakers’ spheres dangling like suspended UFOs. Holes were chipped into the wall, rubble spilled to the hardwood floors. Walt turned and ran up the stairs, thundering to the next floor as his voice rose again. “Jesse! Where are you?” He burst through the door of the bathroom to find it empty, quickly turned and made his way to the bedroom.

 

                “Jesse?” He had to push the door open with force – something was jammed against it. A groan on the floor told him it was likely a large piece of furniture and once he was able to widen enough of a gap to get inside he stood agape at the mess. The bed was in tatters, the top mattress flipped and balancing on the frame, while the dresser stood just on the other side of the door. Another hole had been chinked out of the wall. But he saw no sign of Jesse. He turned to head back into the hallway, had taken a few steps to the spare room when he heard a cough, followed by sniffles. Walter darted back into the bedroom to do another sweep. He walked to the middle of the room, dodging the debris, and as he came around the bed, he saw him – Jesse was sitting in the corner under the window smoking the stub of a cigarette furiously between yellowed fingers. The boy looked terrible. An ashtray sat at his right, so loaded with butts that they overflowed the glass. Six long metal worms were laid out in a row in front of him. Walt recognized them immediately.

 

                He held up a finger to his lips and then pointed to the ceiling.

 

                “I got all the ones in this room,” Jesse croaked, sounding like the dead.

 

                “In _this_ room? They bugged your bedroom?” Walt pushed his hat back, pressed a hand to his forehead. “Well, did you check the entire house? Do we know for sure that this area is clean? What about outside? Did you check outside?”

 

                “I checked everywhere. There’s only so many places that they’d tap.” Jesse puffed a long stream of smoke, his leg jiggling madly, and glanced up at Walter with haunted eyes. “How’d you get in here? Where are you even parked?”

 

                “Don’t worry, I parked the car quite a ways away. And your back door was open.” He spread his hands to the breadth of the room. “What the hell happened? Why didn’t you call me like you said you would?”

 

                Jesse spit a laugh and shook his head in disgust, as if he’d expected as much from Walt. “Yeah, I’ve been a little busy. You’re lucky you didn’t walk in here a couple hours ago yelling for me like a crazy person. You're not supposed to be anywhere near me, remember?”

 

                “Well, I wouldn’t have had to come here if you’d just _called me_ like we agreed upon. I’ve been waiting since Friday night to find out how things went.” He waved around the room again. “How did you even know they were bugging your house?” While it had seemed likely that Fring would go to such lengths, it had never occurred to Walt to warn Jesse about the possibility. He slapped a hand to his head. “Great! Obviously, this means that they’ve got my house under surveillance, too. And I won’t be able to pull them out of the walls now that you’ve discovered yours.”

 

                “Why not?” Jesse stubbed out the last remnant of his cigarette and then picked up his pack and pulled out another one, his lighter flaring as he burned the tip. Walter’s alarm increased as he watched Jesse barely able to get the cigarette in his mouth, his hands were shaking so violently. His whole body was a mess of jitters and ticks, the leg still moving a mile a minute, and Walter worried that Jesse was back on the meth.

 

                “If I do it at the same time as you, they’ll know we’ve –” his voice trailed off as he took in Jesse’s fragile state. “What the _hell_ went on this weekend? Why don’t you start with the dinner? Were you successful or not?”

 

                Jesse turned his face to the wall, eyes closing as pain passed over his face. “It’s gone, Mr. White,” he said, in a graveled voice that made Walt’s throat hurt just listening to it.

 

                He knelt before the boy. “What’s gone, Jesse?” The guilty look he got told him exactly what he feared. “You _lost it?_ Are you kidding me with this?” he railed. “Are you purposely trying to sabotage our only option here, Jesse?”

 

                “No! And I didn’t fucking _lose_ it!” the boy shouted, holding his cigarette above his head as he ground the heel of his hand to his eyes. “Gus _knew,_ okay? I had it all ready, it was all gonna happen, and then,” Jesse’s husky laugh folded into tears, “he fucking _dumped it._ ” Jesse looked up to Walt with pleading eyes. “It wasn’t my fault, Mr. White! I did everything right!”

 

                “Wait, wait – he knew? Are you sure? What did he say? How did he – just start over! Tell me what happened. Right from the beginning. I need to know everything.”

 

                “I don’t _know_ what happened! He was drinking the wine, everything was going great, but as soon as I put the ricin in, he came back and … he just … I don’t know how he could have figured it out,” the boy exclaimed. “It was like he was Spiderman, or something.”

 

                Walter was lost. “ _Spiderman_?” He shook his head in confusion, annoyed that Jesse hadn’t followed the plan.

 

                “Yeah, like Spidey sense – you know, Spiderman had this tingle when shit was about to go down.” The leg jiggling moved at a stellar speed as Jesse looked down at the floor, sucking hard enough on the cigarette that his cheeks were concave, giving his face a skeletal shape.

 

                “How did you even get the ricin into the wine? You were supposed to inject it through the cork. _We_ were. That was the plan, right? What we discussed? Had you come up with a better idea?” he said sarcastically.

 

                “No, man, but I had to, you know, make some adjustments,” Jesse whined. “I forgot, last time, that he’d poured me a little something at dinner. If I’d poisoned the whole bottle and he decided to pour me some again, then what was I gonna do? I was trying to keep him at ease, okay? You know, if I was drinkin’ with him, he wouldn’t be suspicious.”

 

                “ _Okay …_ and so?”

 

                “So, it was all cool. When Badger called I had enough time while Gus was in the other room –”

 

                “Whoa,” Walt held up his hands. “ _Badger?_ You had that lunkhead call Gus as a distraction? Why am I suddenly sensing the problem?”

 

                Jesse turned to the wall again, his jaw steely as the smoke circled above his head. “Look, you weren’t there. It was fine and then … and then it wasn’t. He just decided to empty his glass down the drain,” Jesse choked on a sob, his voice shakier as he continued. “It was like he was daring me to say something. But … then, nothing. I don’t know if he actually suspects anything or if he’s just fucking with me.” He pointed to the mics on the floor. “There’s nothing on there about Gus, at all. I didn’t say shit in this house; they got nothing, Mr. White.”

 

                Walter rubbed at his eyes with a sigh, trying to formulate a way to remedy the situation. There was the possibility of making another batch, but they were running out of time. The leaps and pirouettes he’d had to perform to get Hank out of the country for a few weeks had been exhausting, but thankfully Marie had been an effective ally in the argument. He wondered if it was time to deal with Gus in a more extreme manner.

 

                “Alright then. What’s done is _done._ We’ll have to try again. Since Gus hasn’t already attempted to _kill you,_ I’d say you’re in the clear for the time being. Now, I can make up another batch, but this time – ”

 

                “Fuck no!” Jesse croaked harshly. “I ain’t going through that again. No way. If he figures it out – knows what I’m doing? I _can’t_ , Mr. White.” He tried to get his cigarette back in his mouth with some difficulty. Walter grabbed Jesse’s hand to steady it, trying to instill some confidence in his young partner, but Jesse wrenched it away from him, eyes going wide in fear, and Walt could see that the boy’s whole body was shaking. Something had him spooked badly.

 

                “Jesse, calm down. It won’t be like before. We’ll find another route, something a bit more fool proof. You’ve been in his home more than I have. Think of something we can dose that he’s likely to use when you’re not even around.”

 

                “Forget it! You’re not listening, Mr. White! We’re not dealing with … you know, just some _guy._ Gus is … something else. He’s _evil._ You get me? He’s gonna know, if I fuck up, if I do it wrong, he’ll … I don’t …” he folded over into a coughing fit, the phlegm thick in his throat, and then as soon as it passed put his cigarette back in his mouth for another long drag.

 

                “Jesus, you sound awful. What’s the matter with you? Are you sick?” He went to press a palm to Jesse’s forehead, but the boy pulled away from him again as soon as he was touched. “Are you running a fever? Why are you like this?” He grabbed at Jesse’s face, even though the boy recoiled, but he held on so he could get a look in his eyes. “Are you high?”

 

                Jesse slapped at his forearms, pushed him away forcefully and backed further into the wall. “Stop it! And fuck off. I’m not on anything, and I ain’t gonna be. If I use again, Gus will make me pay.”

 

                “Jesse, he can’t kill you if you’re currently his only cook,” he said, attempting to allay the boy’s fears.

 

                “I didn’t say he’d kill me. He’ll figure out something fucked up and horrifying and _fucking painful_ to do to me.” He let out another thick, panicked sob. “I’m so fucked.”

 

                Walter was getting more concerned with Jesse’s state the longer he talked. This wasn’t typical. As many horrific situations that he and Jesse had been caught up in, as much as Jesse had gone through, this wasn’t merely one of his lugubrious episodes after the events. Jesse was terrified. Once again, he tried to put a hand on the boy to settle him down.

 

                “Hey, we’re going to figure this out. You and me. But I need you to think straight, son, and this, right here?” he said, waving a hand up and down the crouched, trembling figure in front of him. “This is not going to help us.”

 

                “You don’t understand!” Jesse shouted, his expression mixed in horror and outrage. “This isn’t just a ‘figuring it out’ kinda situation! Gus isn’t just OG, he’s like, on his own fucking level. You did hear me when I told you he wasted the entire cartel? And that was just in Mexico. The guy fucking _tortured_ people, okay? Electrocuted them, murdered them, fucking had their heads cut off! He’s a fucking monster!”

 

                The boy bent over in shudders, his pained breaths coming so fast Walter worried he’d hyperventilate. He kneeled closer to him, gripped Jesse’s neck in support. Jesse could only cower against the wall with a moan and hold himself tight, the light from window casting over his head so that his face fell in shadow.

 

                “What are you saying, Jesse? Tortured who?”

 

                Jesse took a long drag and exhaled the smoke towards the ceiling. “Back in Chile. For that general dude. Gus was, like, one of his guys.”

 

                Walt’s brain started to whir, synapses firing, connections trying to be made. “Wait. Are you saying Gus was in Pinochet’s military junta? That would be in the seventies, early 80’s. Saul said Gus had been in business here for twenty years. The time would be right. Gus _told_ you this?”

 

                “Yeah.” He let the ash fall off the tip of his cigarette and drop to his leg without even bothering to brush it away. “He told me a lot of shit I didn’t want to hear.”

 

                “Like what?”

 

                The face Jesse gave him was incredulous. “What? Why?”

 

                “Whatever he told you, we might be able to use some of that information to get rid of him. Think, Jesse. Anything. If Gus has a secret past, that could hurt him were it discovered. He prides himself on hiding in plain sight. I need to know anything that could come back to haunt him. Any _one._ Gus must have enemies.”

 

                Jesse had straightened up and was listening to him carefully now, absorbing Walt’s words with concentration. “Yeah, he’s got enemies.”

 

                “Well, like who?”

 

                A sigh finally, as Jesse rubbed at his face. “Um, Hector Salamanca, for one.”

 

                Walt shook his head in confusion. “Salamanca? Someone related to Tuco?”

 

                “Yeah, his uncle. You know, the guy in the wheelchair with the bell. The one that was trying to get us killed?” Jesse pressed on as Walt nodded. “Gus hates him, _loathes_ the guy. So much, that he won’t even kill him, he just killed everybody important to him. He keeps him in an old folk’s home and just goes there to make the guy’s life a living hell. And I would guess that the feeling's gotta be mutual.”

 

                Once again, Walter was shocked by how much Gus had shared with Jesse. “That’s helpful, but … I’m not sure what a wheelchair-bound old man with very limited motor function can do for us.”

 

                “Well, he could know people in other cartels. Hector was a big-time player in his day. Gus has got to have a price on his head at this point. Or we could talk to his daughter.”

 

                Walter’s head was bent in thought but he perked up at the mention of Gus’s family. “His daughter? I don’t understand. I thought his children were young.”

 

                “Nah. They’re grown women. One of them is a botanist, or something. But the one he doesn’t get along with is a reporter. And I guess she doesn’t believe Papa Fring when he tells her that he didn’t do anything bad during the shit storm back then. He said she’s writing a book about it. She lives in South America, though.”

 

                Staggered yet again by what Jesse had recounted, Walt gaped at him with surprise. “That’s excellent, Jesse. Very good.” He stroked at his chin as he started to plot. “Keep talking. Anything else that you can think of? Any detail that might seem significant?”

 

                It was quiet for a beat as Jesse shifted even straighter, leaning his back on the wall as he stretched his neck. He opened his mouth to speak, turned hesitant and stared at the window in doubt. Finally, he faced Walt, appearing resolved.

 

                “I think … I think Gus has a bad heart,” he stated.

 

                “Why do you say that?” Walt asked carefully, trying not to show his excitement.

 

                “I was in his bathroom once and … I opened his medicine cabinet. Just to see what was in there that I might be able to dose. Some of the pill bottles … I recognized the names. My dad takes them for high blood pressure. Or he used to, anyway. He’s probably fine now that I’m out of his hair.”

 

                Walter smarted at the mention of Jesse’s father, imagining that Jesse might be able to detect that he’d talked to the man recently. He cleared his throat, his attitude turning deeply serious. “Like what? Can you remember exactly?”

 

                “I don’t even know how to pronounce them, Mr. White. But it made me think. You said that the ricin would make it look like a heart attack. But that’s not really true. I looked it up. Vomiting. Bloody diarrhea. Their kidneys or liver could shut down. They might have seizures. That’s not heart attack stuff. And Gus would know something was up. I told you, the man knows his poisons. But … if it were something that really _did_ give him a heart attack? I mean, I think it’s, uh, what is it, _hereditary._ His old man croaked like that.”

 

                Ideas were circling in Walter’s head at a dizzying speed. “Well ... with the ricin, it wouldn't have mattered once Gus was too sick to get treatment. But that’s good, Jesse. This is very useful information.” He couldn’t believe how fruitful Jesse’s visits to Gus’s house had become. But the more he thought of Gus’s threats to him in the desert, the more violent he wanted the outcome. “I’m thinking, however, that Hector Salamanca might be the right choice here,” he said, raising his finger. “I could go see the man. Appeal to him. Enemy of my enemy is my friend, and all that. Did Gus say where he’s got him?”

 

                “Well, he took me there to see him. After we got back from Mexico. Gus had to rub it in his face, that the cartel was wiped out, that … that his grandson was dead.” Jesse paused, looking haunted as he stared at the window again. “It’s, uh, called Casa Tranquila. Way out on Paseo del Norte.” He squinted suddenly, his tone doubtful. “How are you gonna _appeal_ to him?”

 

                “Well, think about it. The man’s quality of life is pretty sub-par, at this point, if, as you say, he’s all alone, can’t do anything for himself. Tuco definitely seemed to revere him like a father. Maybe there’s a way the man can die with some dignity – for an outlaw, that is – and take Gus down at the same time.”

 

                “Huh? Like how?”

 

                Walter could no longer keep the growing excitement from his voice. “If I can talk Salamanca into wearing a bomb – or maybe I’ll just connect it to his wheelchair – and we can find a way to get Gus out there for a meet, we could have our delivery device.”

 

                Jesse looked back at him horrified, his face a rictus of disgust. “That’s your plan? You want to get some guy to _blow himself up_ in an _old folk’s home._ Are you listening to yourself? What the fuck kind of crazy-ass shit is that? How many innocent people are you planning on taking out with him?!”

 

                “The bomb would be small, something I can make with relatively few materials, just enough explosive power to blow out the room. No one else would get hurt.”

 

                “And you know that, _how_ , exactly? Is this some special bomb – a safe bomb? That only targets who you want, lets shrapnel fly to where you want them to land? Are you _totally_ insane?”

 

                “Look, I’m not about to discuss physics with you, but yes, it could be done, if we –”

 

                “No way, Mr. White! I’m not getting some sweet old lady blown up while she’s knitting a sweater for her grandkids or some shit. Think of something else.” The boy was riled up again, his tone bordering on hysterical. Stumping out his second cigarette butt, he was already pulling another one from his pack with hands that still shook. Walter flirted with the idea of coming back with a sedative to knock the kid out.

 

                “Jesse, you need to calm down. Let me … let me just think on this, alright? You’ve given me a lot to work with. A lot.” He glanced down at the bounty at Jesse’s feet. “Now, they know you’ve found the bugs. I suspect someone will be on their way to pick them up. Gus will probably call you in, try to smooth things over. Like I said, you’re his cook, he’s going to want to protect his interests. He’ll want to try and _explain_ things to you. Just – don’t get upset. Show him that you’ve accepted things. This is simply how these men proceed with their business. We should have been searching for bugs long before –” Jesse snapped accusing eyes to Walt’s, his jaw clenched as the memory of their fight insinuated itself into Walt’s words. “Well, we need to be more careful, is all I’m saying. We can’t let Gus continually be ten steps ahead of us. From now on, our movements need to be exceedingly cautious. We need to anticipate Gus’s every action. You’re going to be instrumental in this, Jesse. Get a cheap phone that we can talk on and dispose of when we’re done, make sure you’re outside, no calls inside the house. I – I’ve got Hank taken care of for the time being, but it’s not a lot of time. And … my family is back at my house. I need to make sure they’re safe.”

 

                Jesse rolled his eyes and stretched his neck towards the window. “I told you, Mr. White. Gus won’t touch them … unless you do something that makes him flip his shit. I don’t know if I can … I won’t be able to …” his eyes glistened as he swallowed, a deep misery bloomed back to his features. “I can’t keep protecting you if Gus finds out we’re plotting against him. If he finds out _I’m_ involved –” Jesse pressed tremulous fingers to his eyes. “Maybe you should just go.”

 

                “I know. I’ll leave in a minute. I just want to make sure –”

 

                “Nah, I mean leave Albuquerque. I don’t know why you haven’t taken your family far away from here already.” Jesse’s expression turned hard, his tone questioning. “I mean, what the hell are you staying here for? You got the money. Take ‘em somewhere out of the country and enjoy your life in whatever time you got left.”

 

                Walter’s teeth ground together as he thought of Beneke and Skyler’s liberties with his money. “It’s gone,” he hissed. “I can’t, anymore. Saul had someone, a man to help us disappear, but it’ll cost more than I’ve got left.”

 

                Now Jesse appeared flummoxed. “How the hell did all that money disappear already? What, you been partying with high-priced hookers and eight balls without telling me?”

 

                He sighed, not wanting to admit that his wife had acted without his knowledge. “Look, we just spent 800 grand on a car wash, with taxes, and then there were … a few cars. The condo. And … Hank’s medical bills trying to cover our story. It’s my business, Jesse. But suffice to say, I am without the funds to uproot my family from their home and drag them around the world trying to keep a step ahead of Gus.”

 

                “So, you need money?” Again, Jesse’s expression altered, his face filling with light and hope. “Why didn’t you say so?” He turned his body to Walter’s and seized his wrist. “Mr. White, just go to Saul’s. I’ve got 750 in his safe –”

 

                “Seven hundred and fifty _thousand?”_

“Yeah. It’s yours. Take it. Take all of it. Go somewhere you feel safe. If you need more, I can send you some wherever you end up.” His expression was awash in relief. “I mean, this could answer everything, Mr. White. Oh my God. If you were gone, it would be so … please, Mr. White. Take the money and _go.”_

But he couldn’t do it. He was tired of being the man who gave up. That was no longer an option for him. Gus had threatened his family and Walt would see to it that the man went down, if it was with his last breath. This was a match of wits, not just brute force, and Walter would show Gus that he had gravely misread him, that Walter was smarter and more resourceful than Gus could ever be. And he had Jesse back on his side. Gus hadn’t even been able to win his loyalty.

 

                “No,” he said curtly.

 

                Jesse balked, his eyes blinking in confusion. “Why not?”

 

                “It’s … it’s not right. I can’t take your money from you, Jesse. You have your own … _issues_ to handle. People who … rely on you.” He thought of the girl and her little boy. Walter knew from Saul that Jesse was covering their rent.

 

                “Mr. White, it’s no big deal. I’ve got more money coming from Gus. He’s wiring some of the cash into an overseas account. And the rest, he’s paying me through the restaurant. I’ll be fine.”

 

                “The restaurant?” Walter was confused again.

 

                “Yeah, I’m gonna work there, like once a month. It’s just a front, but it’s a legitimate position and he’s paying me a big salary as part of my payment for the cook. He’s got credit cards coming to my house, even.”

 

                Something hot sparked in Walt. Something nasty and mean – leaving a simmering rage roiling in his gut. There was no way Gus was getting away with any of this. He had to understand that Jesse was his, that Gus would never have him no matter what glory and riches he plied him with.

 

                “Well, it doesn’t matter. It’s not just about the money, Jesse. Gus has as much as promised that he’ll kill Hank the first chance he gets. I’m not going to stand by and let him murder my brother-in-law. Hank’s a good man, he doesn’t deserve that.”

 

                Jesse hung his head in shame, the tears back in his eyes. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Okay.” He pressed his head to the wall again, in a suffering silence, his mood having returned to morose.

 

                Walter didn’t know what else to say to lift Jesse up, and he hunched there awkwardly, bouncing on his feet, eager to get to work on his plan. He slapped Jesse’s back affectionately. “Hey, chin up. We’re working together, and that’s all that matters. With all of the information you’ve given me today, the loss of the ricin is just a temporary setback. Don’t beat yourself up about it. We’ll get him next time.” The thought occurred to Walter that the next time might have to involve Jesse pulling another Gale on Gus, if he couldn’t coerce things in his favor with Salamanca. Keeping the cops away from Gus – and consequently, Jesse – was optimal, but Walt knew he had to leave all options open.

 

                The ridiculously lengthy shorts Jesse wore had rolled back on his knee and Walt noticed a purplish mark under the hem. “What happened here,” he pointed to the bruise, but Jesse quickly pulled the material back down.

 

                “Nothing,” he said, his voice sullen again, and Walter took that as a cue to leave. He stood up, stretched across the end of the disheveled mattress, and made his way to the door. He looked back once, saw Jesse still curled in with arms gripped around his legs as if he was literally holding himself together for fear of his body breaking apart. He looked so small and vulnerable, and Walt felt his throat close up, felt his concern return as he wished for a moment that he could hold Jesse like his father should have, saw his own son slumped in the corner in a million moments that Walter could recall as Junior had struggled with his disability, with girls, with life. He voiced now what he always fell back on with Junior.

 

                “It’ll be okay, Jesse. Trust me.”

 

                Then Walter hurried out of the room.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, no one had any thoughts on Walter running into Adam Pinkman, huh? 
> 
> This particular chapter was one of the first scenes in my head when I got this little plot bunny going, so it came quickly, as I'd probably gone over it already dozens of times. It's like you got three chapters in one week, almost! Enjoy it, because it might be a while before the next one. But at least we have the calm, rational voice of Mike to look forward to.


	27. The Drive

 

 

_You know, Walter, sometimes it doesn’t hurt to have someone watching your back._

 

 

                Wispy tendrils of steam rose from the tub as Jesse lay back against the porcelain, the foam bubbles cresting across the top of the water with the breach of his hand. The heat felt good mapping through his body and after a bit had helped him relax. His muscles ached from all the shivering he’d done earlier. The dawning realization that Gus had been spying on him was upsetting, but it really should have been expected, Walter had been right about that. He didn’t know why he hadn’t caught on sooner, what with Gus’s snippy remarks on Jesse’s after work activities, dropping deeply subtle hints about Andrea’s preferences. Jesse could see that now. Gus must have viewed them together on the tape. It was creepy enough knowing that Gus had been watching _him_ acting like a whore getting off solo all this time – and the crawling sensation on his skin had stayed with him from the time he found the camera until after Walter had left – but knowing that Gus had also watched him with Andrea made him ill. Once again, his involvement in this business had tainted her life, and she wasn’t even aware of it.

 

                Then there was the raging fuck fest of the weekend that still troubled him. It felt like he’d been through every stage of shock since he’d arrived at Gus’s house. Between the horror of what Gus had unleashed on him that first night to watching the ricin slip down the sink at dinner, he’d felt his reality crack into pieces. And then Gus had shattered it even more. When he’d made it home, he’d been too exhausted to do anything but sleep, jolting awake several times in the night feeling sick. Uncovering the surveillance had left him even more nauseated, violated, debilitated, all the –ateds. Now he just felt numb.

 

                The thing about meth was that the sex had always been a plus, an amazing side note to the buzz, his dick tweaking along with the rest of him. Getting lost in drugs was great. Getting lost in drugs _and_ sex was even better. But even without a chemical enhancement he’d had encounters that rivaled that feeling of being fucked-up while fucking, where everything was just firing on all cylinders and it went all night and the girl was hot and his balls felt like they were filled with rocket fuel. And sometimes, a few times, it had just been about that person, and the connection had made him tremble. But he’d never felt anything before like he had the other night. Sex had never quite _obliterated_ him in that way, in an almost spiritual sense, his orgasm feeling like an out of body experience, like it had literally been ripped from his skin.

 

                And it was terrifying that it was Gus who could do that to him, a man for whom having a teenage girl murdered to get even with an enemy was justified. He’d never had much use for pain, as much as he’d become inured to it working with Walter. But he’d been shocked by not only what he’d managed to put up with, but get off on, and get off _hard_. Hell, he’d even _asked_ Gus to do some of those things, a development that he currently didn’t know what to feel about. And until Mr. White could come up with a new plan, he’d have to keep doing it, keep letting Gus introduce more of his kinks on him, and God only knew what next fucked up thing Jesse would blow a load on. But there was that tiny bit inside him that wondered about it, wished for it, and that was perhaps the most frightening thing of all. It was as if Gus was still testing him and he didn’t want to fail. He _wanted_ Gus to be impressed with him, in whatever manner Gus deigned to administer. He’d awakened with a sore jaw, his mouth feeling like it was still stretched around Gus’s prick, but he knew he’d been dreaming of it, too. And he was tired. Jesse felt like he could sleep for a hundred years and it wouldn’t be enough.

 

                There was a banging on his front door. Jesse didn’t move, just stared at the bath foam floating over his nakedness, a blanket to cover him from eyes in the walls. He didn’t hear Mr. White screaming for him so that was a relief. The banging came one more time before it fell silent outside of his bathroom. A minute later, he heard his front door open. There was a great huff down below, the sound winding up his staircase like the breath of a dragon. He heard footsteps, but he continued to stare at the bubbles, sliding down into the water until it was up to his chin, then just under his nose. He imagined sliding to the bottom of the tub, wondered how long he could stand it before his lungs started to burn. The footsteps clod up the stairs, measured and sure, and Jesse felt some peace ease into his bones.

 

                The door widened.

 

                “Well, gee, whatever you do, don’t get up from your bubble bath, Princess. I love walking up stairs with this knee.”

 

                Jesse tipped his head back out of the water, eyes fixed to his toes poking through at the other end. “They’re in the other room,” he said, still hoarse.

 

                He could feel Mike studying him for a moment, before turning and plodding to the bedroom. A few minutes later he was back, holding on to the doorknob while the other hand gripped the bugs like a bouquet of flowers. “There’s a few missing here,” he noted with deadly seriousness.

 

                “The camera’s busted. Smashed to pieces. It’s in the garbage if you want it,” he said, calm and matter-of-fact. He wasn’t going to feel hurt by Mike’s betrayal. It was the man’s job, he had to remember that. They all worked for Fring, did whatever Gus wanted. He couldn’t take it personally.

 

                “Okay. You miss one, then?”

 

                Jesse finally turned to look at Mike. “I guess. You tell me. The only rooms I couldn’t find one were in here and in the kitchen. Where you hiding it?”

 

                “Should I remove it?” Mike asked. “Or should we let Gus continue to feel like he’s got reason to have faith in you?”

 

                “What the hell does that mean?”

 

                Mike stood akimbo, hands on his hips looking ready to give a lecture. “Look, you can’t take this personally. But Gus will put more trust in you the more you prove yourself trustworthy. We all know you’ve got a little addiction problem. Gus needs to know that you’re not going to go back to snorting – or smoking – our product, that you’ll stick to the script. You need to understand that, kid. Business takes priority here.”

 

                “Whatever, Mike. I don’t care.”

 

                “Aw, you’re breaking my heart with all this stoicism. But the state of your house begs to differ. And just when you were getting it back to looking so tidy.”

 

                “I’ll deal. But I’ve been up front with Gus. I told him my price, and I gave him my word. That should mean something.”

 

                “I’m sure it does, but we also need to take precautions. You have a tendency to not be so predictable, kid.

 

                “So, what are you saying here? You’re planning on telling Gus that I don’t know about the bug in my kitchen? Otherwise, I don’t see how it’s gonna keep him happy us leaving it there.”

 

                Mike took another deep breath and sighed. “Exactly … he doesn’t have to know that you know. As long as he feels assured that you’re staying clean … and away from Walter … then that’ll be good for you. You followin’ me?”

 

                For a brief moment, Jesse considered the idea Mike was suggesting, of placating Gus by letting him believe that he was a good little slave unaware that there was still one last bug allowing them to monitor him. But then he remembered Walt screaming through the house and realized he had no choice but to destroy it. Yet Mike’s willingness to lie for him was a big deal and warmth flared in his chest.

 

                “Yeah, I think I’ll take my chances. Where’d you put it, anyway?”

 

                Mike’s shoulders dropped with his sigh before he held up his fistful of mics. “I’ll take care of it in a minute. Now, come on, get out of the tub. I know a guy who runs a shooting range past the airport, down by Los Chavez. Lets me use it whenever I want. You and I are going out there.”

 

                “Huh? You’re taking me shooting? Now?”

 

                “I said I would. And after your little stunt this morning, today seems like the perfect day for it. You need to blow off some steam. So get up, get dressed, and get your gun.”

 

                But Jesse couldn’t get out of the bath just yet, couldn’t let Mike see the sick bruising on his legs. “Um … could you give me some privacy?”

 

                Mike’s parting eye roll was typically weary and disgusted, but he left the room, closing the door behind him.

 

 

******

                It had been quiet in the car for the last mile, the radio dormant as they drove on the long stretch of highway. Mike looked over at his passenger with a keen eye. Jesse sat with his head pressed to the window, staring off into the desert with none of his usual restlessness playing out in a series of tics. He had been attentive and earnest at the range as he’d practiced his aim, any questions minimal, and they’d spent a couple of hours there until the kid looked like he’d worn through the last of his energy. But Jesse’s stillness was starting to unnerve Mike. He wasn’t sure what to make of Jesse’s rather muted acceptance of the tap on his house.

 

                “You know,” he began, just to get the kid talking. “If it’s any consolation, those bugs weren’t there for very long. Less than a few weeks, really.” Jesse glanced at him with eyes sparkling, even as he shrugged his shoulders in ambivalence. “You’re learning. If someone’s interested in you or something you’ve got, always expect that they’re gonna be listening closely. Get that suitcase from the back, would you?”

 

                Jesse leaned over the car seat, grabbed the small case and brought it up front, resting it on his lap to open the locks. It was filled with a voice recorder and surveillance equipment, including what had just been ripped from Jesse’s walls (and the one he’d pulled from the outside of the house), but Mike pointed to a small black box with an antennae protruding from a corner.

 

                “Take that and keep it with you. You go in somewhere that you think might be bugged, turn that on and start sweeping the area.”

 

                “What is it?” the kid croaked.

 

                “A radio signal detector. It works like a scanner. Any bugs within a certain radius, this thing will lock on to the signal. I suggest you sweep your car every once in a while, too.”

 

                Jesse held it with a muddied expression. “You … you know something about my car?”

 

                “No, not at the moment. But we’re talking about taking measures, kid. Learn to protect yourself.”

 

                It turned quiet again as Jesse inspected the gadget. He closed the case and returned it to the back seat, the black box lying between the two of them. “Thanks,” he finally mumbled.

 

                “Well, don’t thank me just yet. We still have Schrader to deal with. There’ve been some developments that are making me a little nervous.”

 

                That got Jesse to perk up. “Why? What happened?”

 

                “Nothing yet. Looks like he and the missus are going on a little vacation, though. Later this week, by the looks of it. It appears that Walter had something to do with it, but … I don’t like where Schrader’s heading.”

 

                “Where’s he going?”

 

                “Mmmhh,” Mike grumbled. “Flying into Hamburg. I didn’t get a look at the itinerary, but I might have a clearer picture before they leave.”

 

                “Hamburg? Like Germany Hamburg? So, what? Why is that a problem? Didn’t Gus want him out of the way?”

 

                “Yes, but he was thinking of something a little more permanent. And he certainly didn’t want Schrader sniffing around connections to our side business.”

 

                “What connections?”

 

                Mike looked over to see Jesse suddenly more alert and expressive than he’d been since Mike walked into his house. “Our parent company, Madrigal Electromotive. They own a stake in Los Pollos. Among other things. And Hamburg is only a few hours away.”

 

                Jesse straightened up in his seat. “Wait. Are you saying that our meth business has ties to this company? What about the cartel? Is this how Gus funded the lab? He’s got backers in Germany?”

 

                “Well, look at you, Elliot Ness. Aren’t you full of questions all of a sudden. Does this mean you’re done moping?”

 

                “I’m serious, Mike. Gus said something about having other partners. How big does this operation get? I thought we were just trafficking the southwest?”

 

                “You’ll have to ask Gus the details, but let’s just say he made acquaintances with one of the execs at Madrigal before the guy was at Madrigal. He was responsible for bringing Gus to the attention of the company.”

 

                “For real? How long does this partnership go back?”

 

                “Like I just said, you’ll have to talk to Gus if you want details. It’s not my place to discuss it.”

 

                There was a shift in his seat as Jesse went back to staring out of the window, deep in thought while chewing on a thumbnail.

 

                “It’s nothing you’ve got to worry about, kid. I can handle this. Just promise me you’re not going to give Gus a hard time about your house.”

 

                “I told you, I’m over it,” he said, pulling a cigarette pack from the front pocket of his jacket. “Can I, uh, smoke if I open the window?”

 

                But Mike was concerned. Jesse had grown up a lot in a short time, and yet the way he was handling recent revelations was too close to the walking zombie Mike had taken out into the desert for dead drops. The kid had looked shell shocked when Mike had walked into the bathroom. Something else was bothering him, something more pressing than discovering he’d been under surveillance.

 

                “Let’s just keep our lungs clear for a little longer, shall we? You sound like they could use a break. We’re not that far from town. Meanwhile, you can tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

 

                Jesse frowned at him. “What? I’m fine, I told you.”

 

                “And yet, I’m still not buying it.” He looked over the kid again as Jesse sighed, flipping and catching the pack in his hand.

 

                “Look, I’m just thinking about work, okay? Gus said I’m going into the restaurant this week to start my new gig. I gotta read manuals and shit, get a bunch of state codes memorized. He’s gonna introduce me to everyone. I’m just nervous.”

 

                And yet the kid looked remarkably un-nervous. “That’s true. He’s got a list of things for you to do before then. I have a couple of places I’m supposed to take you before Wednesday. I believe you’re getting fitted for a suit.” Jesse rolled his eyes then rubbed down the tops of his legs. The news seemed to touch off something in the kid, and the fidgeting began in earnest, his knee bouncing as he drummed the pack against the dash.

 

                “You should spend some time with that little family of yours,” Mike suggested. “Take it easy tonight after we’re done. Get your head in the right place.”

 

                The advice only aggravated him further. “I don’t need to take it easy,” he groused. “And … I don’t think she wants to see me right now, anyway.”

 

                Mike’s ears pricked. Now they were getting somewhere. “Why’s that?” he asked.

 

                The boy shrugged. “Um, I’m not really sure, to be honest. I … I guess I pissed her off. She won’t answer my messages. It’s been, like, three days.”

 

                “And you haven’t gone over there to make sure things are okay?” Mike started to worry. What had the kid been saying?

 

                Jesse’s dulled expression turned alarmed. “Why? You know something? Is she in trouble?” The kid’s voice rose in distress. “Who else knows about her? Have you been watching them??”

 

                “Jesus, kid, enough. I don’t know anything, here. We don’t have any surveillance on her house, nor do we have plans to.” He turned his sight back to Jesse. “Unless you’ve said something to her I need to know about?”

 

                “No!” Jesse insisted. “It’s nothing like that. I told you, she knows jack shit about what I do. It’s … it was something else.”

 

                “Something else, huh?” Mike’s harrumph overtook the vestiges of a chuckle. “In my experience, a man usually knows what he’s done to piss off his woman, even if he doesn’t want to admit to it.” He looked the kid over again. “Either you haven’t done what she asked you to do, or you’re doing this ‘something else’ and she doesn’t approve … or some _one_ else.”

 

                Jesse looked taken aback … and guilty as hell. “I’m not _doing_ anyone but her. She’s got the wrong idea.”

 

                “Hmm, and how’d she get that idea in the first place?”

 

                Jesse looked away, stared back at the landscape zipping by his window with a knuckle tapping at the glass. “I don’t know. She might have … seen something. It … it looks kind of bad but it’s not what she thinks. Or maybe it’s over something else totally different. I have no idea ‘cause she won’t fucking call me back.”

 

                “Well, sometimes a woman needs a little time to figure these things out. Or maybe she’s just waiting for you to go over there and let her say her piece in person. Whatever it is, I’m sure you kids will work it out … if this is serious.” He glanced at Jesse again, curious about the relationship now. The kid needed some stability in his life if they were going to manage to keep him in a productive headspace. Mike needed to determine if this girl was a good influence for him or just another complication.

 

                Jesse’s shrug was non-committal. “Maybe. I mean, sometimes I think … you know, it could be good.” When he turned to Mike, however, his uncertainty was written all over his face. “But how do you know? I mean, part of me says I should stay away from them. I ain’t no good for her or for that kid. I’m in a dangerous business, like you said. I’m putting _them_ in danger just hanging out with them, right?”

 

                Mike stayed quiet. He certainly knew better than to disagree with the kid.

 

                “But … they’re, like, this _place_ almost. Somewhere I can go where I don’t have to think about the business, at all, I can just be … content. For like five minutes. Just … be in the moment with them.” He had stopped playing with his cigarettes, going still in his introspection as he gazed at his lap.

 

                “That’s a good place to be,” Mike said. “There’s nothing wrong with that, you just need to take care of it.”

 

                Jesse gave a dry, humorless laugh. “Yeah, take care of it. I can’t even take care of myself. I mean, we’re both … addicts. I get scared that –” He shut up abruptly, pulled out a cigarette and put it to his lips. “Yo, you gonna let me smoke or not?”

 

                But Mike ignored his request. “Get scared of what, Jesse?”

 

                Jesse shrugged again, his agitation making its way through his body in fits and starts. “Um … you know, getting her … messed up.” He hung his head as he fiddled with his nails, his jaw working nervously. “I don’t want it to be like … like before. _Fuck_. I only went home with Andrea ‘cause I was trying to sell her meth. I’m the shittiest boyfriend in the world.”

 

                “And what was it _before.”_ Mike had a vision of Jesse’s shattered face the day he’d first met him – the day he’d cleaned up after the dead girl.

 

                “Why do you say that like you don’t know? I got _Jane_ to start using again. It’s _my fault_ she died,” he snapped.

 

                Mike sighed wearily. The kid was a walking basket of self-loathing. “Look … Jesse. I saw that girl’s history after the mess with her father. She’d been in and out of rehab a long time. You can’t take responsibility for a heroin addict. They’re going to do what they want.”

 

                “Is that what you think of me?” Jesse asked angrily. “Everybody’s gotta watch over me ‘cause I’m such a fuck-up? You’re all just waiting for me to slide back into it, right? But she was doing _fine._ She had her shit together and _I ruined it._ ”

 

                “Let’s not get carried away, okay?” he wised. “Yeah, your powers of seduction are so far-reaching that all women everywhere are at your mercy, is that it? You kids were messed up on that shit, and _that’s_ what killed her, not you.”

 

                But Jesse wanted to argue. “Bullshit. My counselor tried to feed me that line, too, and for a while I believed it. That none of it was anyone’s _fault,_ it couldn’t be helped, blah blah. It’s just an excuse, though. I need to confront what I did.”

 

                “Aw, Jesus, how did we get hitched on this wagon? Let me tell you, kid, I’ve seen my share of ODs. If you’re gonna do heroin, number one, you don’t fall asleep on your back.”

 

                Instantly, Jesse took offense, his eyes going wide. “But that’s just it! She didn’t! I told you, _I killed her._ ”

 

                Mike started to get confused. The kid was in a fever now. “What does that mean, exactly?”

 

                Tears were welling in Jesse’s eyes as he gulped, turned away to stare through the windshield. “She made sure I was okay. Every night. Told me to lay on my side so I wouldn’t choke if I puked up. Sometimes she’d put a pillow behind my back. And that night … she was right behind me. Spooning me, you know? But … I knocked her over, obviously. Too zoned out to do anything for her when ... when she needed me. You get it?”

 

                “No, I don’t. You’re being awfully presumptuous. You don’t know that that’s what happened. What do you remember from that morning?” Jesse’s features darkened, his jaw tightening. “Don’t think about it. Just tell me, what’s the first thing you remember seeing when you woke up?”

 

                Jesse glared at the black box on the seat, his eyes as distant as his voice. “I don’t know. Our works, I guess. It was … it was bright and hot in the room. I remember looking at all the shit on my nightstand and feeling … stupid. We should have just left like we said.”

 

                Mike hadn’t wanted to get the kid in a discussion like this, had been attempting to keep him out of his depression, but something started to tingle in his fingers. “If you were staring at the nightstand, you were still on your side. You would have been out cold, not tossing and turning. Where were you going?” he asked suddenly, wondering what their plan had been.

 

                “What? Um … New Zealand. Or someplace far away. I don’t know. It was a dumb idea to begin with. She was probably just humoring me. I doubt we would have gotten farther than Las Cruces.”

 

                “New Zealand? Why on earth were you going out there for?”

 

                The kid’s foot started tapping and he put his cigarette back in his mouth, pulled a lighter free from his pocket. “To get away from everyone. Out of Mr. Whi – I mean, _Walt’s_ hair. I didn’t want to be around him, anyway. And her old man was gonna force her back into rehab.”

 

                “Out of his hair? The two of you had just cleared a little over a million dollars from the fruits of your labor. Was there really no intention to work together again? I’m surprised that he would have stopped there.” Mike had always wondered about Walt’s turnabout after Gus had done business with Jesse. He thought he’d understood the man’s resistance, at first, to be about having achieved his financial security for his family, but when he’d had a hissy fit over Jesse’s involvement, Mike had been curious about the cognitive dissonance of the act. It had been a far cry from the concern he’d displayed as they’d driven Jesse to the center.

 

                Jesse opened the window and flicked ash off his cigarette, drawing a long suck on it before answering. “We … kind of had a falling out. He didn’t want anything to do with us.”

 

                “Us?” Mike replayed the state of the events from that day in his head, recalled the details of the room when he’d entered it. He had a flash of the door with the hole in it.

 

                “Me and Jane,” Jesse mumbled miserably.

 

                “And how was _she_ involved exactly?”

 

                The kid darted a guilty glance at Mike before turning away, inhaling from his cigarette again. “Um … there was sort of a … he was withholding my money. She was just making sure Mr. Wh – _Walt_ gave it to me.”

 

                He didn’t need to say anymore. It suddenly dawned on Mike what had been at play. The scene he’d walked into that morning altered in his memory, that pretty girl lying in her bed with that doll-eyed stare looking less of a victim.

 

                “Jesse, what happened to the door?” he asked gruffly.

 

                The kid faced him finally, but looked confused. “Huh? What door?”

 

                “The one in your duplex – your back door, I’m talking about. It had a big hole in the middle of it. You had it taped up with cardboard.”

 

                “Oh. Um, I don’t remember. I guess … I guess it was him. When he came to get the stash.”

 

                “The stash? For Gus?”

 

                “Yeah. Gus told him it was a go and he came over to my house. But … you know. I was out of it. So he had to break in. I woke up and saw it that way. The kitchen was trashed, the product was gone. It took me a while to figure it out, ‘cause dickhead wouldn’t answer my calls, but that’s when it must have happened.”

 

                A picture was starting to form in his head. A picture that Mike didn’t like. The kid had definitely received his money from Walt; it was the first thing Mike picked up.

 

                “So, Walt delivered your money to you that night?”

 

                “Yeah. Why?” The kid’s eyes had gone very big. But Mike didn’t want Jesse stirred up, he wanted him rational and calm. This was information he needed to sit on and ruminate over.

 

                “Nothing. Never mind. Just figuring out the timeline.” He went quiet but when he glanced over at Jesse, the kid was eyeballing him curiously. “Don’t punish yourself for being a survivor, kid,” he told him. “It’s a lot of wasted energy.” He knew intimately what that felt like.

 

                They drove along in silence for a few minutes before Jesse piped up again. “Hey, Mike, can I ask you something?”

 

                “Mmhmm.”

 

                “After your wife … you know, was gone – did you ever? Like, was there ever someone else?”

 

                “Sure,” said Mike, surprised by the question. “I got married again. ‘Course, it only lasted about three years. She was a smart one, got tired of my shit pretty quickly.”

 

                “Yeah? Was it …” the boy hesitated, struggling to find the words. “I mean, did you _love_ her?”

 

                “Sally? Sure. She was a good gal. Sharp, like I said. I had some good times with her. She used to be a showgirl. Still had a great body when I met her.”

 

                “But … was it ever like … I mean, was it the same as how you felt about your first wife?”

 

                Mike’s chest swelled as he thought of the first time he laid eyes on Charlene. “Aw, not even close. Charlene was my girl. The great love of my life. No one like her, nor will there ever be. She was truly something special. No other woman could ever replace her in my heart.” He glanced over at Jesse worrying his bottom lip, staring forlornly at the scenery with tears shimmering in his eyes again. Mike started to understand what was eating at the kid. “That’s not a bad thing, though. Doesn’t mean you can’t ever be happy with anyone else. It’s just different. It’s always going to be different. But wanting companionship – even in this business – it’s natural. Keeps you grounded. You have a greater sense of the consequences, and you make damn sure you don’t make any mistakes.”

 

                Jesse’s sigh was long and weary as he leaned back against the headrest. “I don’t know, Mike. I don’t know what I feel anymore. About anything.”

 

                “You’re still young,” Mike offered. “You’re not supposed to know anything. And feelings? You’ve got too many of them. Just give it some time.” The poor kid had barely had a chance to grieve for the girl before he was pulled into more of Walter’s shit. His crazy impulses with the drug dealers started to make more sense if he’d still been reeling from that deep of a loss. Mike had always assumed that they were just junkies together who got in over their heads. He could still visualize Jesse’s haunted face on that day and was irked with himself for missing the signs. The kid had been destroyed. And Mike had been too quick to write him off. He thought about his own son, how he’d ignored Bobby’s drinking and wild behavior after Charlene was gone. If he’d been paying attention, he could have dealt with them both better. It was a good thing Jesse had Gus and Walter looking out for him or the kid would have been dead already.

 

                “Look, my son had a hard time when my wife passed. _Real_ hard time. Got himself into a lot of trouble. Drunken brawls, gambling debts, stuff like that. He owed a hefty sum to some pretty bad characters. I left him alone for a lot of it, ‘cause I figured he was pissed off and needed to vent that shit out. But by the time it got out of hand, things were pretty dire. I stepped in, but I don’t think it helped our relationship any.” And Bobby just had further proof of what his father had become. “At least he calmed down after that wake-up call. Settled down with Rhoda, they had Kaylee. Best thing he ever did.” It had been good for a while, his son finally centered. But then he’d fallen back into destructive behavior and it had wreaked havoc on everyone.

 

                “Are things better between you now? It seems like you babysit your granddaughter a lot. Does that mean you guys see each other pretty regularly?”

 

                “I wouldn’t call it babysitting, I just like the company,” Mike explained. “My baby is an absolute delight.” He needed those afternoons in the park with her; they kept his life in perspective. “But her dad … mmm, he still has his demons. And apparently I’m one of them. I haven’t talked to him in a long time.”

 

                “Oh. Is he not around or something?”

 

                “Yeah, or something. He and Rhoda split a while back. It was a good thing, too. My son is a nasty drunk with a vicious temper. I love that girl like she’s my own daughter … but … I got too involved in that one. Took sides when I shouldn’t have. It got pretty messy.” That last fight still hounded him some nights. Pulling his gun on his own kid, the sight of Rhoda’s facing sending him into a rage. Her panicked call bringing him to their house, hearing Kaylee’s screaming cries from her crib as soon as he’d walked in the door. He still kept tabs on Bobby, knew where he’d find him, but he knew it wasn’t his place to approach him. Mike had never been much of a father. The only legacy he’d managed to pass down was how to destroy a family.

 

                “You should go see your girl,” Mike advised. “Find out what’s bothering her. A woman respects a man who doesn’t run and hide when he thinks he’s screwed up.”

 

                “Respect? Right. Like, she’d have any for me at all if she knew what I do.”

 

                “I told you, don’t even go there. Just hear her out.”

 

                The stop lights were coming more frequently as they got closer to the city. Mike pulled off 47 and into a gas station. He drove up to a pump, cutting the engine as he eyed Jesse again. “We all need something, kid. Go for what's real. It’ll do you some good.” He shifted to get his wallet from his back pocket. “You want something from inside?”

 

                “Nah, but can I borrow your phone?” Jesse held out his hand. “I can’t use mine right now.”

 

                “Sure,” Mike said as he fished it out of the other pocket. “You giving her a call?” He dropped it in Jesse’s hand.

 

                The kid hesitated a moment. “Hey, Mike … just so you know. I gave her your number and told her to call you if anything bad goes down, okay? I mean, you’d … you’d take care of them if anything happened to me, right? Make sure they get my money?”

 

                Mike held his gaze for several beats. It was a big request. He knew what Jesse was really asking. He had a crazy feeling that Jesse would return the favor if the situation called for it. That Mike wouldn’t even have to ask. A wave of despair hit him looking at the kid’s face again, so open and trusting.

 

                “Aw, Jesse," he said with a heavy sigh. "You have my word.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Mike. Soooooo much.
> 
> Your notes continue to delight me, dear readers. And thanks for the Kudos. I'm really thrilled with this story's growing audience.
> 
> warriorpoet - " _because that man and his ego are why nobody can have nice things._ " Such a classic, perfect statement. And that ego has come such a long way.
> 
> Cricket - " _It's amusing that he thinks he understands Jesse more when he's completely blind to Jesse's inner turmoil half the time._ " I know, right? I always love that scene in the beginning of Bug, when Walt asks Jesse what he does with his time. He really doesn't give a rat's ass, either, unless it somehow pertains to Walt, like having actual hobos living in Jesse's house.
> 
> Danger Slut and RAS123 - We'll just have to see what happens!! (Psst, I was pretty sad when Gus died, too. What a monumental character.)
> 
> SegaBarrett - Gus is certainly trying his best to makeover Jesse, but he's possibly starting to see him as his own man. Don't worry, Andrea is coming up. She's not out of the picture just yet. 
> 
> solfi - Yay! Glad you got a kick out of that. " _rather I felt like he was getting stronger and more resilient and sort of gaining control of the situation_ " - Jesse is definitely working things out, and there will be more of that. I think that attempting to navigate Gus's tastes and desires is one thing, but knowing that Gus is a ruthless killer is always at the forefront of his mind and his fear can overwhelm him. 
> 
> Hannah - I always get excited when readers question and debate elements from my stories, because I definitely strive to create a dialogue with the audience. I wonder about the ramifications of such an ordeal and try to see it through the characters' eyes. " _Is it really believable that Jesse will become a healthy, emotionally and sexually fulfilled, productive member of society because Gus is powerful enough to force him to be one, rather than because he's motivated to change for his benefit and that of the people he cares about?_ " - one of the things I loved about the show was Jesse's growth. It wasn't so much a metamorphosis as it cemented who Jesse fundamentally was as a person, and his maturity was something I cherished. I feel like Jesse's gone through a lot of stages in this story already, but he's not done yet.


	28. The Visit

 

_I mean, what’s the point of shutting yourself off completely, from something that lifts you off the ground?_

 

                Jesse lay across his futon wrapped in a blanket from his bed. It was dark out, but it wasn’t yet eight o’clock. He hadn’t moved from the spot for the last several hours, feeling wiped out after cleaning up the mess in the living room and kitchen. The upstairs could wait another day. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with it. A large, stuffed trash bag sat on the floor by his speakers, plaster and debris peaking out of the top. The holes in the wall had been newly spackled while the speakers and furniture had been righted and put back together. One of the _Back To The Future_ sequels played on the television, he couldn’t tell which. A cereal bowl sat on the table, the handful of leftover colored o’s stuck to the sides while the milk at the bottom swirled with reds and greens.

 

                There was a gentle rap at the door. At first, Jesse thought he’d imagined it, but when it came a second time he sat up, bleary-eyed and curious. Andrea still hadn’t called him back but maybe she’d decided she needed to see him instead. His last message had been pretty lengthy. He got up, back in his track shorts and a loose tee-shirt, barefoot as he made his way to the door.

 

                When he opened the flap to the peephole, he almost jumped back, unable to contain a gasp as his mouth dropped open. Jesse swung the door open.

 

                “Good evening, Jesse. May I come in?”

 

                Frozen for a moment, trying to process the request, Jesse recovered from his shock with a shake of his head, stepping to the side of the door. “Uh, sure. Yeah.”

 

                Watching Gus waltz into his living room felt surreal and Jesse’s mouth went dry as he scrambled for something to say, ticking off the reasons that Gus might be there that didn’t involve something terrifying.

 

                Gus looked around the room, glanced to the drying patches on the wall. He straightened his coat by the lapels and looked over at the futon with the jumbled blanket distastefully, his eyes wandering to the only other piece of furniture to sit on – the papasan. “I’m sorry to bother you this late. I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said softly.

 

                “Yeah, sure.” Jesse fought against the urge to allow Gus to get comfortable, but his mother’s insistence on manners won out. He pulled the blanket and pillow off the futon and bundled it in a ball to throw on the chair. Picking up the remote, he muted the television and then pointed back to the futon. “Have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink? Um, water, Gatorade? I can make some coffee. It’s just instant, though.”

 

                Gus held up a hand graciously. “No, thank you, I’m quite alright. I’m on my way to a dinner. I can only stay a moment.”

 

                Jesse breathed out his relief with eyes shut. He sat down, his legs suddenly weak. “Okay. What’s up, then?”

 

                Gus remained standing. “I owe you an apology,” he said, looking quite sincere. “For this morning.”

 

                “Apology for what? You keepin’ tabs on me, or me finding out?” Jesse’s curiosity was now piqued. The visit was getting more bizarre by the second. “Looks like you got some good footage out of it, at least,” he said nastily. “To add to your collection. Lucky for you, right? I was on a roll last week. Hope you got a lot of sweet angles.”

 

                The reaction he provoked was a little more familiar, as the man’s features hardened to a grim mask. “I needed to make sure that you were true to your word,” Gus said coldly.

 

                “And? Did I pass? I thought you said you believed in me.”

 

                Gus sat next to him on the futon, his expression returning to concerned. “I _do,_ that hasn’t changed. But I had to be sure, Jesse. I want you to trust me as well. I have been very honest with you. I have told you things that I’ve never said to anyone else.”

 

                “Really?” Jesse questioned sarcastically, his doubt thick. “Not even _him?_ ”

 

                “No. Not Max, not my wife. It has been very … _liberating,_ sharing myself with you. And it is my deepest wish that you can feel the same with me. I am sorry that I felt I had to monitor your actions. I did not mean to upset you. I can appreciate that it must have felt very intrusive … violating, when you discovered it. But I have been in this business a very long time. It is just my way, a hard habit to break. I hope you can understand that.”

 

                Jesse shrugged in awkwardness, the oddity of the moment enough to make him feel estranged from his own body. “I guess.”

 

               A hand patted his knee as Gus rose. He straightened his coat again, by the hem, brushed a hand over the pocket at his breast. “Well, thank you for seeing things from my perspective, Jesse. I am looking forward to introducing you to my staff at the restaurant this week.” He paused, his head bent as a small smile crept across his face. “Do not worry about studying too much before then. You will be following me around, just listening to the employees. This first time is simply for you to observe their actions, take notes. I’ll have your materials delivered to the lab tomorrow.” He turned to leave but then stopped and faced Jesse again. “Oh, and I have a new bed arriving for you while you are at work. I hope it will be alright if I have Tyrus meet them midday to let them in. They will remove the old mattress.” He pointed to the patches on the wall. “Have you finished throughout the house? I can have someone repair any other disturbances, if you need them to.”

 

                “Uh, no. I mean, it’s fine. Walls are good. And the delivery … it’s cool. Thanks,” he answered automatically, still weirded out by Gus’s attitude.

 

                “Very well, then.” Gus smiled at him again, pulled a card out of his pocket. “This is the gentleman you will see after work. There are a few more pieces beside the suit that I’ve asked him to fit for you, if you wouldn’t mind.”

 

                “Yeah, okay,” Jesse replied, taking the card from Gus. He glanced quickly at the address. “I can do that.” He got up to walk Gus to the door and when Gus turned to look at him one last time, Jesse had a sudden pull in his gut, of wanting Gus to stay and just talk, and he attempted to return the smile, the tug at the ends of his mouth reflexive. It passed the next second as Gus put a hand to his cheek and caressed his face, leaving Jesse’s heart pumping faster.

 

                “ _Que lindo,”_ Gus murmured. He nodded once. “Good night, Jesse.” And then he was gone.

 

                Jesse stood by the window and peeked through the curtain as he watched Gus walk to his car, a kingly figure moving with elegance. He stood there long after Gus had driven away.

 

 

******

                Bugs swarmed around the porch light as Andrea sat on Jesse’s front stoop, the night closing in around her while the evening sounds swelled and the temperature dropped. She pulled her sweater tighter, leaning over her lap as she watched his neighbors in their lit windows. The Tercel was parked in front, but there had been no answer and the only lights on in the house were in the living room. She knew she could let herself inside and wait, but it didn’t feel right – she didn’t want him to feel like she was blindsiding him.

 

                His messages had become increasingly desperate, the latest one finally requesting if he could come by, but she hadn’t been able to press the button to call him up, the images of those bruises popping into her head every time she heard his voice. There were so many implications in the marks – ones of ownership and brutishness … and unavoidably masculine. Yet she didn’t want to guess what was going on anymore, she was ready for the truth. Part of her couldn’t let go of Jesse until she heard it uttered from his mouth, until she felt it for sure; that there was nothing left between them.

 

                She heard the running steps before she saw him, coming around the corner and towards the house. Jesse’s arms pumped dramatically as he sprinted across the lawn, she could hear his exultant huffs, but his determined expression turned dumbfounded as soon as he saw her, his running coming to an awkward, thundering halt. He bent forward with his hands on his hips, his panting labored as he tried to draw breath, but then he spit towards the grass before walking up to the step, calm and collected.

 

                “Hey. How are you?” he asked, still sounding ragged.

 

                She gave him a wan smile. “I’m okay, I guess. I was wondering where you’d gone without your car. When did you start running?”

 

                “Oh, uh … it’s just a recent thing. I … I thought I should get some exercise. You know, get fit. It … helps me think.”

 

                “That’s good. I was doing that, too. Going to the gym when I really wanted a bowl. Endorphins are a magical thing.”

 

                “Yeah, yeah they are,” he agreed, nodding his head. “I’m really glad you’re here. I was getting worried about you. Is Brock with your grandmother?”

 

                She nodded back. “We spent the day at the park, had dinner over there. He was out cold by the end of it anyway, so she’s going to take him to school tomorrow.” Andrea met his gaze. “I think we need to talk, Jesse.”

 

                Instantly, he looked away, staring out into the enveloping blackness. “Um, yeah. I kind of figured,” he said softly. His tone was resigned, but he held out a hand to help her up. “Come into the house.”

 

                She took it, letting him drag her up to follow him inside. She noticed the trash bag as soon as she walked in, but it was the smell that hit her first. The lingering notes of a heavy cologne, something musky and mysterious. Something that Jesse had never worn before. She glanced around the room, half expecting a visitor to be waiting for them.

 

                “Uh … would it be okay if I took a shower first?” Jesse asked. “I’m pretty sweaty and I stink. You can help yourself to whatever you want in the kitchen. I think there’s some leftover teriyaki in there.”

 

                “Jesse, I’m fine. I do most of your shopping, anyway. I know what you’ve got in your cupboards. Go take your shower. I’ll watch some tv or something.”

 

                “Okay. I won’t be long.” He disappeared up the staircase and she heard the bathroom door close. A few seconds later, the sound of water in the pipes filled the house, the spray muted behind the door, and she plopped herself down on the futon to wait for him. Andrea figured he knew what was coming and was just staving off the inevitable breakup, but perhaps she was, too. She had needed a moment once she saw him, suddenly unsure of herself and what she planned to say. The waft of cologne entered her nostrils again and she wanted to gag on the scent. Who the fuck was this person? Her thoughts started to race, imagining a dozen different scenarios, different faces. What the hell was Jesse doing?

 

                After only a minute, she couldn’t stand it any longer, the sound of the shower becoming intolerable. The immediacy of being in his house, touching him, the proof that he’d had company; there could be no more prolonging of the truth. She needed him to explain it all and she wasn’t going to waste any more time sitting around wondering. Andrea ran up the stairs. At the top of the landing, she strode to the bathroom on her left, grabbed the doorknob and went in, not even bothering to knock. The room was already filled with steam, the glass fogged up, including the frosted door of the shower. She could make out his shape but not much else.

 

                “Jesse? Jesse, can you just finish? I really need to speak to you.”

 

                “ _Andrea_? What are you doing in here?” There was a tremulous crack in his voice.

 

                “Just come out already,” she demanded as she slid back the door.

 

                “ _Whoa!_ What the hell –”

 

                But she had bent down to turn off the water before taking in the full picture of him standing there naked. He put his hand on hers in a panic, his body crouching with the effort, and when Andrea straightened, she saw them all.

 

                “Oh my God! Jesse, what the _hell did you do?!”_

 

                “Get out of here!” he screamed back as he attempted to block them with his hand. He pushed her away, grabbed for the towel on the bar and wrapped it spastically around his waist, covering his thighs in the process. “Jesus, what are you doing? Can’t you give me one _second?!”_

                But Andrea was too horrified to listen. She wanted to know what those awful bruises had resulted from. In their perfect little pattern, six on each side, like some kind of deliberate artwork. When stepped past her to get out of the tub she pushed him hard, until he slammed back against the glass. Jesse pressed his palms to the shower door for balance and she stole the moment to rip off his towel.

 

                “Hey! Stop that!” He grabbed it back from her but she was too stricken to resist, seeing that it was even worse, that it wasn’t just bruises, the silver gleaming at her under the lights. He held the towel against his crotch, as if out of modesty, the length of it only partially covering the marks, but hiding away the jewelry. The air had rushed from her lungs and she had to struggle for breath to speak.

 

                “Who … when did you … who is that for?” she finally asked.

 

                “Look, I can explain. Just let me get fucking dressed, okay? Go in the other room and give me a – _Jesus_ , just give me a minute.”

 

                “You can explain this?” she said, incredulous. “We were supposed to get piercings _together,_ Jesse. But they were never really meant for me in the first place, were they?”

 

                He was still trying to herd her out of the bathroom but she wouldn’t budge, pushing against him every time he touched her. “I – I don’t know what you’re talking about. Andrea, you _wouldn’t call me back!_ I don’t know, I just thought … it was – I was doing it for _you._ ‘Cause that’s what _you_ wanted, alright? I thought it would help make up for whatever you were mad at me for.” He tried to put his hand on her waist again, to move her through the door, but she slapped it away. “Shit! Will you just fucking stop? Can I get some goddamned clothes on?! I’m _begging_ you, Andrea. Please! I’ll tell you everything, just go downstairs and I’ll be down in a minute. _Please.”_

_“_ No.” She stepped out of the doorway and waved to his bedroom. “Go ahead. Get dressed. I’m going to be sick if I have to keep looking at that mess,” she said as she pointed to his legs.

 

                Jesse gaped at her for a moment, quickly trying to fashion a knot in the towel after wrapping himself up again. He ran past her and into his bedroom, turning on the light as he stepped through the door, and Andrea marched in after him.

 

                The room was a disaster. She stared at the chaos feeling completely at sea. The mattress was split open, springs exposed and the batting tufted from its incision like smoke. The dresser was halfway across the room and the drawers were on the floor, Jesse’s clothes in a heap. He was sorting through them trying to find something to wear and he glanced back at her in aggravation.

 

                “Come on. Seriously?”

 

                “I – I don’t even know what to say. What the hell happened over the weekend, Jesse? _What is going on?”_

                He was trying to pull on some clean track shorts under the towel and it fell away as he tugged them up to his waist. Grabbing the first shirt on the pile, he stretched his arms up to put it on, but not before Andrea caught sight of the red streaks on his back. Jesse turned to face her and held a hand out towards the door. “Can we go downstairs, please? I kind of had a situation in here.”

 

                But Andrea perched herself on the edge of the bed where it was still intact, noticing the deep gouge in the wall with some fascination. “What were you looking for?” she asked calmly.

 

                “Huh? Nothing, it was … I think I got a mouse running around.”

 

                She pointed casually to the hole. “And you were trying to find it in the walls?”

 

                Jesse swallowed hard as he stared at where she was pointing, his eyes still panicked. “Um. That was … I don’t know. I – I told you, I’ve had some bad nights.” He crossed his arms up across his chest and she could see he was shaking.

 

                “Who is it?” she asked blatantly.

 

                “Who – who’s who?” he stammered, reminding her of an owl as his eyes went wide.

 

                “Whoever it is you’ve been fucking. Is it your boss? The one you had to buy the perfect wine for?”

 

                Jesse stood agape, his face carved in horror, but he said nothing.

 

                “Answer me!” She felt her anger burn through her like napalm. It was all becoming clear to her, what had been happening. “What the fuck is this? Are you experimenting or something? Is that why you were suddenly interested in my kinks? Was I supposed to be your test subject? Asking me all those questions about how it made me _feel_. And all because you wanted to try it with someone else?”

 

                “I’m not – I’m not like that,” he answered dully.

 

                “You’re not like what, Jesse? A cheater? A liar?”

 

                Something seemed to snap in him and his eyes went soft and dewy as he addressed her, his tone pleading. “Look, it’s not what you think, Andrea. I – I _promise_. I would never do that to you. This is just – it’s a misunderstanding, alright? I – I had a bad fall. At work. And that’s all that is.”

 

                She stared at him in disbelief. He couldn’t think that she was this stupid. “At _work?_ And where is that, exactly, Jesse? Because I think it’s time you finally told me.”

 

                He looked down at the floor, his skin flushed from his face to his arms. “Um. It’s uh, that chicken restaurant. You know, over on Coors Road? Los Pollos Hermanos. I’m – I’m the, uh, inspection auditor for the company.”

 

                She couldn’t stop it from coming. Andrea’s laugh was a bark that cut through the room. “That’s a _joke,_ right?”

 

                But Jesse stared straight in her eyes. “No, it’s true,” he said quietly.

 

                “Really? Inspector? So, all this time – and you’ve never taken us by there? Never thought to offer up that little bit of information? All that cash you make. The envelope of money that showed up after my brother was killed. You letting me believe you were a drug dealer instead of just telling me this? Why is that, Jesse? Why tell Brock something lame, like you’re in _production._ And what do you do at the Laundromat then?”

 

                “I – I don’t know, it just didn’t seem important. What … what about a Laundromat?”

 

                “You talked about it in your sleep,” she snapped. “ _Christ,_ you really must think I’m _idiota_ if you expect me to believe _any_ of this.” She glared at him, feeling hurt and betrayed. “Why can’t you just tell me the truth? Who did that to you, Jesse? And don’t give me any crap about a _fall._ You tried that on me before, and I’ve never noticed you to be _that_ clumsy.”

 

                He hung his head, looking ashamed. “It’s … it’s the truth. I didn’t mean for that to – to happen.”

 

                Andrea stood up, her anger surging as he continued his ream of bullshit, each ludicrous story another stab in her heart.

 

                “Stop _lying!_ Tell me the truth, Jesse. For just once!” She got closer to him, and he gawked at her helplessly, his mouth moving but nothing coming out. “Answer me, Jesse. Who did that? Who is he?” Jesse shook his head insistently, his forehead scrunched, but still said nothing, and Andrea’s rage leapt out of her. She slapped him hard across the face, her emotions coming unhinged. “ _Answer me!”_

Jesse put his hand to his cheek, appearing dazed. She smacked him harder, the pain more violent for them both, and something dark flashed in his eyes as he gripped her wrist and squeezed it tight. “It’s my boss, okay,” he hissed. He stepped back from her, but tripped on the pile of clothes and Andrea grabbed for his arm, tight enough to leave her own bruises. She jerked him close enough until his nose was near hers.

 

                “Boss of what? Some restaurant chain? Am I really supposed to buy that?”

 

                He looked away, slid a hand over hers to push her off. “I’m his cook.” His voice was so hushed she almost didn’t hear him.

 

                “What?” She grabbed for his wrist again, trying to keep him near.

 

                “His _cook,”_ Jesse repeated strongly, his face miserable. “The blue. It’s mine. I make it.”

 

                It was Andrea’s turn to be struck dumb. This was more than she’d expected. The Blue Sky – what every one of her old tweaker friends pined for, the thing that terrified her with its mythic rep. The memory of that first hard sell on the couch came back to her in an instant.

 

                “That’s _you?_ You cook up the glass that every jibbhead and their mother’s been begging for?”

 

                “Me and my partner. The man you met. I mean, it’s his recipe, but he’s out of the game now and … the guy I work for … let’s just say he’s committed to keeping me on the payroll.” She could see the fear dance in his eyes. “But he’s kind of terrifying. Not the type of dude you cross. _Ever_.”

 

                “So the restaurant is bullshit. Then where do you go every day?”

 

                “Nah, the restaurants are true. This guy … he runs both. I – I really can’t tell you anymore. I don’t want you to know these things, babe. It’s for your protection, I swear. The less you know the better, you gotta believe me.”

 

                “So you’re making meth for him, then … what does he do with _you?”_ She pointed to the tops of his legs again. “What the fuck _is_ that? What are you involved with, Jesse?”

 

                He scrubbed his face and sighed desperately. “Please don’t ask me this.”

 

                “I think you owe me the truth. Don’t Brock and I mean anything to you?”

 

                “Of _course_ you do.”

 

                “So then _tell_ me,” she demanded. Jesse looked devastated, but he took hold of her wrists and brought her to the bed, sat her down with him. She was caught again by the delicate fan of his eyelashes as he kept his gaze downcast and cleared his throat. “I – I had to make this deal. It’s just … it’s just business. I’m trying to protect someone. And so … I do what he wants.” He stole a glance to her face and then quickly dropped his eyes back to her knees. “It doesn’t mean anything, Andrea. I don’t – I don’t _want_ to, okay? I have to.”

 

                “Jesse, what are you saying _?_ You have to what? Have sex with him? Let him – do whatever he’s doing? I’ve seen the marks. They’re getting worse. Is he hurting you?”

 

                Hands went to his face again as he covered his eyes, shaking his head in amazement as a leg started to bounce up and down restlessly. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation,” he mumbled. He slapped the bed as he stared off at the wall. “He’s like you, okay? I mean, not exactly. The reverse, I guess.”

 

                “Like _me_?” Her tone hardened. “And what does that mean?”

 

                “ _Fuck,_ why are you asking me about this?” he groaned. “He’s … _you know,_ he’s a fucking sadist. Big time. Likes the scene. The bondage and a bunch of other fucked up shit. I just thought … I just thought you might have helped me, alright?” He looked pleadingly into her face. “To _understand._ That’s why I wanted to try things with you. I – I don’t know what he wants from me. I can’t figure out his game. But he’s not – like I said, you don’t want to have this guy mad at you. I’ve seen him,” he gulped hard, squeezed his eyes shut. “I’ve seen him _kill people._ Like it was nothing.”

 

                A shard of ice seeped through Andrea, into her veins and deep in her bones, as it dawned on her just what she’d entangled her and her son in by allowing Jesse into their lives. She’d been a fool to think he wasn’t dangerous. Because he was sweet. Because he was loving and patient and good and kind. But he was a criminal, and she understood now that she’d always known that. And yet, she still couldn’t walk away. She could feel his desperation so plainly and that familiar need to comfort him stayed with her.

 

                “Why didn’t you tell me this, Jesse?” she said, her voice softening.

 

                “Tell you _what_?” He snapped in annoyance as he stood up, his anger rising. “That I’m letting some _dude_ fu– do that to me?! Yeah, sure, that’s the first thing I want to admit to my girlfriend. ‘ _Oh, hey, babe, I hope you don’t mind, but my murdering meth boss wants to put his dick in my ass once a week. That’s totally cool with you, right?’_ Yeah, somehow I didn’t see that going down real well. Should I tell you how he likes to string me up like I’m the catch of the day, too? So he can wail on my ass? Do you _really_ want to hear that shit?”

 

                “Is that … part of this deal? You’re his … he gets to _play_ with you?” She reached out to his thigh, rubbed the nylon fabric until it slid up enough to expose the bruises again. He jerked away from her as if he’d been burned and the material dropped back down. “What are those from? Needles? He uses needles on you?” She knew about it, of course, but had never engaged in it. It had felt too risky back then, realizing even in her drug haze that she was not in a healthy place. “It seems like his tastes run pretty severe. What else has he done?” She worried about the extremes Jesse might have been exposed to and the effect they would have had on him. Andrea had a pretty good idea of what he could tolerate. He’d been a mess for weeks. “Does he even explain any of this stuff to you?”

 

                “He doesn’t explain shit, he just does what he wants,” Jesse answered, his anger still fueling him. “Look, I’m not gonna discuss the gory details with you. I’m already embarrassed enough. I think you should just go.”

 

                Her rage depleted, Andrea stood up, taking hold of his arms. “Jesse, you need to talk to someone. You need help.”

 

                “Like who? I need to keep my mouth shut, and so do you. I’m not fucking around, Andrea. You can’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”

 

                “You should go to the cops. Get this guy put away.”

 

                “Are you high?” His eyes danced wildly, his fear tangible. “No way I’m going to the cops. He’s way too smart. They’ll put me away, not him. And then he’ll kill everyone I _care_ about – like you and Brock – before he has me killed. That’s _not_ gonna happen.” He grimaced at her in disbelief. “Besides, you think I want _anyone_ knowing about this?”

 

                “Jesse, you need to do something. Those marks on your back – is he whipping you? I mean, how extensive is this? Is it escalating? Where’s this person going to stop? Do you even know?”

 

                “Ah, Jesus, will you stop already! Why do keep asking me this shit? It’s not your problem, okay? You need to forget about it, Andrea – forget about me. Just go home. I get it. We’re done. Like, I’m sure I must repulse you right now just having to look at me.”

 

                She frowned at him. “I don’t find you repulsive, Jesse. Look, I was upset. I thought you were screwing around and it hurt. Because you _matter_ to me. But this is fucked up, Jesse. I’m just trying to find out how bad this is. Maybe I can help.”

 

                “How are you gonna _help?_ Seriously? And why would you even want to? I’m disgusting. I make myself sick. You don’t know the things I’ve done, Andrea. You need to get away from me. It’s the best thing for you and Brock. Don’t worry, I’ll keep paying for the house. Whatever you need. I’ll give you some money for tuition, too. Go to college, like you said. Make your life better for you and your kid.”

 

                “You need to make your life better, too, Jesse.”

 

                “It’s too late for me. I’m in too deep.”

 

                “I refuse to believe that. There’s got to be a way.” Andrea sat on the edge of the bed again, reaching out for his hand to pull him closer. “Babe. I’m not here to judge you, okay? I’m scared for you. I don’t want you backsliding again and your stress has got to be through the roof by now. You’ve got to be able to talk about this with _someone_. Might as well be me.”

 

                Jesse dug fingers into his eyes, his voice thick. “Are you even listening to me? Didn’t you hear me when I said I – I let this guy _fuck_ me? Is that clear enough?” He glared at her. “Why are you even still here? And you want to _talk?_ What the hell do you expect me to say? That I’m _gay_ now, is that what you’re waiting to hear? You want me to admit to something when I don’t even know what the fuck is _happening_ to me?”

 

                “I’m not asking you to admit anything, Jesse. Let’s just figure this out. Neither of us are saints, here, okay? I’ve done things, too. Things I’m not proud of. Things I wish never happened. But I’m not going to be ashamed about it anymore and let it rule my life. And you shouldn’t feel ashamed, either. It’s not like you’re consenting to any of this, babe, he’s blackmailing you. We need to figure out how to deal with this.”

 

                “Andrea. I – I _can’t.”_ He covered his face again and Andrea held on to his hips, pulling him in closer. “You don’t understand what he’s like. Please. Just go.” But she tugged at his body until he grudgingly sat down next to her, his cheeks wet and shining as he dropped his hands away. She took hold of one and turned it so she could stroke the inside of his wrist soothingly. There were faint ligature marks still embedded in his skin. Andrea ran her hand up the inside of his arm, saw more impressions of the rope as it disappeared under his shirt cuff. She slid it up to see where it ended but he gently pulled her grasp free.

 

                “Jesse. Hon, look at me.” Andrea grabbed the side of his face to hold him still, twisted his head until he reluctantly stared into her eyes. She couldn’t just leave him like this. She understood what it felt like to drown in someone else’s poison.

 

               “When I told you about that guy that I used to be with? The one who fucked me over? For a long time, he was like, all that I could see. My whole world. The only person I wanted to give my time to. I was sixteen. I was angry, and I wanted someone to take care of me. To make me feel special, you know? And then I met Marcos. He … basically changed my life. Everything was _brighter,_ sharper with him. He was smart, he was artistic, he knew about things. And he smoked a shit ton of meth. Pretty soon, I did, too. We’d get high and we’d fuck … like, all day. And when he started tying me up, started whipping me, it was like I saw the face of God. It was like I’d _pushed through_ something, you know? And by then, I was totally caught in his web. It got to the point, I’d do anything he said. He told me to jump, I asked how high, which way should my toes point, should my arms be up or down, whatever he wanted. We’d party pretty hard, but … it wasn’t enough for him, and eventually, our nights together started getting a little crowded. He’d have friends over, only they weren’t the kind of friends you grew up with, more like the ones that got stuck to you, like shit on your shoe, and you couldn’t scrape them off. Things would get crazy wild at his place. I’d get so fucked up, I didn’t know what was going on half the time, too busy flying. The first time he wanted me to do this chick in front of everyone, I thought, sure, why not. It was exciting, all those people looking at us. But not long after that the parties got smaller, more intimate. He’d demand that I … be available. To other people. Sometimes more than one. You know,” her voice quaked, “at the same time.”

 

                Jesse’s attention was now completely on her, his eyes piercing her. It was her turn to look away from him, the skin of her cheeks burning. “Once he started videotaping it, started posting stuff, I knew I had to get away from him. He let … he let other people … mostly men, punish me. Do things to me. Like what we’d shared hadn’t meant anything. And if I complained – he just got me high again.” She searched Jesse’s face but saw no judgment there, and Andrea felt their connection open, the cord between them tightening like her intestines had been knotted to his. “The truth is … I don’t really know who Brock’s father is for sure. When I gave the news to Marcos, he told me I was a whore. That I was ruined. But to be honest, that was … what I needed to hear. I got away from him. Got clean for the baby. And I even managed to stay that way for a few years.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Things got hard. You know what it’s like. I needed my friend, the one that made everything interesting. I was lucky my grandmother was there to take care of Brock. But I can’t mess up again, Jesse. I don’t get any more chances.”

 

                It was quiet in the room as Jesse stared at her, his expression a mixture of things that she couldn’t understand. He put a hand on her knee reassuringly.

 

                “So … what do you think?” she asked him softly. “Do you think I’m a whore, too? That I’m _disgusting_?”

 

                Jesse could only shake his head, the wetness of his eyes shimmering to tears.

 

                “Good. Because I don’t think you’re disgusting, either.” She leaned in close to him, rested her forehead to his, realizing just how much she’d missed the smell of him.

 

                “So … why don’t you tell me how this started?”

 

 

 


	29. The Club

 

 

_I like to think I see things in people._

 

 

                “Gus, he’s here.”

 

                “Send him in, Cynthia.” Gus got out of his chair, feeling a mixture of restrained anticipation and schoolboy giddiness. For the first time, he was actually excited to see what Jesse would come up with in a new environment. The boy’s perceptiveness had become fine-tuned the more time Gus spent with him and there was an insurgent desire to see Jesse surprise him yet again. He was no longer worried about Pinkman going off the deep end, or becoming a problem for them. The mature reception at his house had convinced Gus that the boy could handle more, both in responsibility and with the truth. Jesse just needed someone to show him a little respect, a courtesy that Gus did not mind extending if it garnered him something truly worth having.

 

                There was a knock and then the boy was walking into his office. Once more, Gus was taken aback by the transformation. The fit of the suit was perfection, while the color palette Gus had chosen was predictably flattering. The light gray suit over the white and charcoal checked shirt was emboldened by an eggplant silk tie, making the boy’s skin glow. Jesse’s hair was trimmed and his shoes gleamed. Gus couldn’t have felt any prouder if the boy had been his own. But then, this latest incarnation was proof enough that Jesse was now his. Walter’s influence was fading and in its place stood someone striking and confident.

 

                “Good morning, Jesse. You look … you look exceptionally professional. Well done.”

 

                 “I just put it on. Wasn’t that hard, Gus. This is your show.” Jesse moved smoothly to stand in front of him and held out a hand in offering. Gus took it in his grip, shook it once, then tugged Jesse close enough that he could swoop in for a kiss. Encouragingly, Jesse kissed back, and after a moment, put a hand behind Gus’s head as he opened his mouth wider to receive the tongue Gus lapped into him. The other hand slid down to the small of his back and Gus felt sparks along his spine. He wanted to take the boy already, and Jesse must have sensed it for the hand stroked down over Gus’s ass and then suddenly Gus was hard. His arms shot out behind him to grab hold of the boy’s wrist, pushing Jesse back a step as he blinked in surprise.

 

                “You -that was - We can’t get carried away,” he said, flustered yet delighted by the boy’s initiative.

 

                “If you say so,” Jesse said _sotto voce_ , his voice husky and deep. “So … what’s on the agenda for today, then? Let’s do this.”

 

                “Well. First, I will make the introductions. The breakfast rush is over so we have a lull before the lunch business begins. Let the employees show you the way we set up. Do not be afraid to ask questions, no matter how simple they may sound. Remember, you are testing their knowledge, so whatever you ask, let them answer and leave it at that. It is a good way for me to reiterate some safety measures, but also to get an idea of who might need some more training. I should have hired someone to do this a long time ago, but … I suppose I was just used to doing it myself. Even in your limited role, this will be very helpful to me to have a second set of eyes on things. Our health inspectors here in New Mexico are usually consistent, but Texas and Arizona … they can be difficult.”

 

                Jesse’s smile was casual, but with a hint of mischief. “Fine, then. Just show me the way, boss.”

 

                Gus couldn’t help himself and reached out to smooth down Jesse’s hair. “You look magnificent,” he breathed. “And I want you to know that I deeply respect the way you received me the other day at your home. I know you were upset with me but you handled things gracefully and it will not be soon forgotten.”

 

                For a brief second, something unsure flickered in Jesse’s eyes, but then he seemed to catch himself, smiled a little wider. “Whatever you say, Gus. I work for you, after all. I wouldn’t want to mess anything up. You know,” his gaze sharpened towards Gus. “Bite the hand that feeds me, and all.”

 

                Gus had a sudden vision of the boy on his knees, eating something lumpy and bloody from his outstretched hand, his eyes closed while sucking on Gus’s fingers wantonly. “That is good, Jesse. This will work out to benefit us both, you will see.” He directed a hand to the door. “Shall we? Everyone’s been very curious about you.”

 

                “After you,” the boy said with a slight bow. Gus moved towards the door but Jesse spoke just as he reached for the door handle. “Oh, and before I forget – thanks for the bed, man. It’s super comfortable. Really, it’s the softest thing I’ve ever slept on. Andrea digs it, too.”

 

                His hand froze as the tips of his fingers brushed steel. Gus smiled at the boy, but he didn’t feel it. There was a prolonged silence as Jesse watched him carefully. “That is wonderful to hear,” Gus finally said, opening the door to the bustle outside.

 

* * *

 

                It was a fascinating morning.

 

                Gus found himself trying to conceal a smile several times during Jesse’s orientation with the staff. The boy had been as impressive as he’d hoped, listening to the employees with care and commenting in all the right places. He watched the girls’ faces every time Jesse teased or complimented one of them, Juanita all but melting on the spot when he called on her to explain the breakdown of the fryer. Part of him was slightly jealous, but he wasn’t sure if it was of the way the female side of his staff reacted to Pinkman, or the way Jesse effortlessly goaded and affected them with a magnetic seductiveness that he’d only hinted at before. Gus recognized something in that subtle sweetness wrapped up in the promise of a thrill, Pinkman’s slow curve of his mouth at every answer laden with the heady mix of sex and the forbidden: a kiss delivered to the nape of a neck, behind a knee, at the base of a spine. Even Cynthia’s smile seemed to come from a robust place, her grin as he commented on the kitchen’s cleanliness more revealing than anything she’d ever shown Gus. The tour was as educational for him as it was for Pinkman and the team.

 

                Once the lunch business started to heat up, however, he sent everyone back to their posts and retired to the dining area with Jesse. The boy was quiet as he chewed on some curly fries and slurped noisily at his orange soda, but he watched the denizens of the room with rapt attention, his gaze moving every now and again to the window and the streets beyond.

 

                “You are doing well. My manager has taken a shine to you already,” Gus commented when Jesse’s interest settled back on him.

 

                “Yeah? Is that good?” Jesse replied distractedly as he picked up the chicken on his plate and took a bite.

 

                “Well, it certainly helps. She will be a good ally for you to have here, especially once you get to know the other managers. This store is one of my busiest, the second highest in sales. Cynthia is very well respected by the business leaders in the area. She does a lot of community work.”

 

                “Don’t you, as well? Your calendar always sounds pretty full.”

 

                “Yes,” Gus agreed. “But as I once told Walter, it is best to hide in plain sight. I have made it my business to involve myself with as many local groups as I can. Philanthropy provides a good cover. I sit on many boards. The information I’m privy to is worth the effort, but more importantly, the right people see me in an appropriate setting.”

 

                “Sounds like you got it down to a science.”

 

                “Not quite. There are always new challenges, forcing one to adapt. You cannot simply stick to a formula and hope for the best. I am often met with surprises I did not anticipate. Like you, for example.”

 

                Jesse put his food down, grabbed a napkin and started wiping his fingers. “Me? How am I a surprise?”

 

                He felt a sudden tenderness towards the boy, one who seemed to never comprehend his true value. “I would think it obvious. I worked with you despite one of my ironclad rules, and yet you defied my expectations of you. I’ve learned a valuable lesson in dealing with you and,” he turned to watch the customers on the floor as his voice dropped, “your partner. So I would say that there is always room for growth. And change. I believe in structure, yes, and I have a model that I try to adhere to, but one cannot dismiss everything that does not fit one’s standard. You have shown me this.”

 

                “Oh, right, that’s what you see in me,” Jesse deadpanned. “ _Growth._ ” He raised his eyebrows in doubt. “Is that all?”

 

                “Of course not,” Gus said. “I see many things in your future.” He lowered his head towards Jesse, spoke barely above a whisper. “I can make you a powerful man.”

 

                Jesse grinned wide with a devilish glee, his teeth gleaming like a wolf’s. “Right. I just have to do as you say. Isn’t that how this works? Kind of similar to what my old … _partner_ was offering _,_ don’t you think? And yet you were giving me shit about listening to the asshole.”

 

                “I don’t see the similarities, at all. I am willing to treat you as an equal, Jesse. With respect. If you let me help you, I can guide you on a different path. I am not interested in another lackey.”

 

                “Treating me as an equal, huh?” the boy repeated, crossing his arms and leaning them on the table. He bent closer to Gus, his smile still wicked. “Is, uh … that what you call what we do at your house, Gus? I’m supposed to believe that’s how you see me?” His snicker was low and husky. “How bad do you wanna bend me over this table, right now?”

 

                Gus straightened up in his seat, flattened down his tie as he cleared his throat. “Yes, well, finish your lunch,” he said a little forcefully. “Come to my office when you are done. We have one more exercise with the staff before you are through, and then I’ll turn you over to Mike. He should be arriving soon.”

 

                “What about my car?” the boy asked, looking put out.

 

                Gus stood. “He’ll take you to the laundry and then bring you back later tonight. We will finish this discussion in my office. I need to make arrangements for our stop at the Farmington store tomorrow.”

 

                “That’s like, almost three hours away,” Jesse whined. “What time am I gonna have to be there?”

 

                “I will pick you up, so it will be very early.” Gus nodded towards the tray on the table. “Finish up. It will not look good if you barely touched the food.” He turned and headed for his office, catching Cynthia’s glance in his direction as she pointed to her wrist. Breaks were coming up and he’d need to help out at the counter, but Gus suddenly felt a little lightheaded. He needed to get away from the noise and the sunlight. And away from Jesse for a bit.

 

                Once he’d locked himself in his darkened office, he let out a long breath and sat down heavily at his desk, pinching his fingers at the bridge of his nose, his glasses bumping up to his forehead. The boy was different today, almost cocky. He thought of Jesse’s brashness in front of the chemists at Don Eladio’s again – it was a fond memory and he smiled at the recollection. He liked seeing it in his young cook when he preened before others, but it was unsettling when Jesse turned that same swagger on him. It made Gus want to spirit him away, to spend countless hours, even days, doing things to him. But the feeling was too strong and his patience was being sorely tested. He wanted it to be the weekend already, wanted to be at home with just the boy and his ropes and his toys. The girls and their giggling from earlier echoed in his head. They found Jesse charming. Possibly even sexy – a word that he wouldn’t have used to describe Jesse even a month ago, but was seeing more of it with their every interaction. Gus heard his heart pounding in his ears, felt it slamming against his ribcage until his breathing became strained. He needed his pills. He needed Jesse. Wanted the boy splayed on his desk again, nude and wanton, begging him for a spanking. Hot flesh under his hand, the moans … Gus loosened his tie at the neck and leaned back against his chair. He needed to calm the fuck down. He reached for the bottle of water on his desk and took a drink.

 

                He wondered how pliable Jesse might be during a work week. Gus had just informed him that they would drive up to Farmington together. Perhaps he could persuade Jesse to stay the night at Gus’s house. To make things easier for the morning departure. That rakish grin on the boy had gotten to him. When he heard the knock at his door, Gus fixed his tie and sat forward. He would make this plan work. Jesse needed to be in his bed by evening. Gus would insist on it.

 

 

* * *

“Slide them down. Quickly. I can push this seat back.”

 

                Gus was practically on top of Jesse, the car filled with their heavy breathing as he shifted his body so he could kiss him with more vigor, while struggling to undress the boy. He had Jesse’s belt unbuckled and the zipper down and was trying to bunch the slacks on either side of Jesse’s waist, his mouth back on the boy’s. They were off the road about a dozen yards, deep in the desert. Gus had parked the Volvo behind a large, craggy boulder. He’d been going silently mad for the bulk of the trip, Jesse having refused his offer the night before. At home, he’d played all of his video on Jesse repeatedly during the night and this morning he’d awakened extremely anxious, desperate to have his hands on his young lover’s body.

 

                “ _Whoa,_ stop. What are you doing, Gus? You’re gonna get me all wrinkled,” Jesse said as he wrenched his head away, putting a hand between them to keep Gus from stuffing fingers into his pants.

 

                “I don’t care about the wrinkles,” Gus stressed hoarsely as he gripped Jesse’s neck trying to bring him back for another kiss.

 

                “ _Yeah_ , you do.” Jesse leaned back out of his clutch and stared at Gus in confusion. “You know as well as I do that I need to be perfect when I show up. How’s it gonna look, I walk in there like I’ve been rolling around in the back seat, hair all messed up, letting everyone know you just balled me good? That amateur shit doesn’t normally fly with you, Gus. What’s going on?”

 

                Gus fell back in the driver’s seat in a flump, his exasperated sigh hissing through the car like the air brakes on a semi at a stoplight. He wasn’t quite sure how to answer the question. Pinkman was absolutely right, this was unlike him. “You could have made things easier by coming over when I asked. We would have already had this out of the way,” he chided.

 

                “This? What’s ‘ _this_ ’? It’s not even Friday yet. I told you, I had plans last night. And yo, you’re the one who told me my junk needed to be left alone for a week. Why you trying to get me all hot and bothered every time I see you?”

 

                The indication that he had Jesse sexually aroused was intoxicating to Gus, but he bent his head in remorse, tried to commandeer some poise. “That wasn’t my intention. I suppose I am … not immune to your charms. Much like my staff. You seem to have bewitched several of the girls. They were like putty in your hands.” He turned to the boy. “Is that usually how you would deal with your customers? Flirt and seduce them?”

 

                “If I had to,” he said. Jesse tucked his shirt back into his pants, zipped himself up as he lifted his ass off the seat. “Why, you jealous?”

 

                “These are not your marks, Jesse, they are your subordinates. No need to put romantic ideas into their heads. Some of these girls are still very impressionable. You are their supervisor. You must be very select in the signals you send to them.”

 

                “And to you, too, I guess,” the boy muttered under his breath. “What, does a suit do it for you, or something? I get dressed up and you’re all over my ass. But I’m just trying to be, you know, _professional,_ here, like you wanted. You get more flies with honey, know what I’m sayin’? At least, that’s how I would want my boss to treat me. I didn’t think I needed to be a hard-ass with those kids.”

 

                “You don’t. Just be careful not to involve my business in any sexual harassment complaints.”

 

                Jesse looked deeply offended. “Yo, those girls were, like, _teenagers._ What do I look like, some pedo? Plus –” and he hesitated a moment before finishing his sentence with the arch of an eyebrow – “I already got enough going on in that department. You know, what with a girlfriend and … interested parties and such.”

 

                Gus started up the car without comment. He circled around the rocks and then drove slowly back to the road, the car wobbling to and fro over the desert terrain. Once they were back on the highway, he spoke again. “There is a comb in the glove compartment. Fix your hair.” He pressed his foot to the gas pedal and they sped away.

 

                It was late by the time that Gus dropped off Jesse at the Laundromat, the sky ablaze as the light was sucked into the horizon. Their day in Farmington had gone as smoothly as before, but the long drive-time meant that Jesse was going to have to work all night to complete the next batch. Gus felt the sting of dissatisfaction knowing he had another evening to endure without the boy in his bed. There were details to attend to for his meeting with the new clients now that he’d decided to bump it up to Friday, so he had plenty of tasks to keep him busy, but the yearning he felt would not wane. At least it was only another day before Jesse was back in his house, where Gus felt more and more was the right place for Jesse to be. There was the added thrill of the meeting, as well. Bringing Pinkman with him was going to make for an interesting presentation and Gus looked forward to it.

 

                He drove back to the restaurant, thinking that he needed to check in with Lydia at some point. His last communication with her had felt off. Something was worrying her. Something was usually worrying Lydia, but this seemed more pressing than was normal for her. He would spend some time in the dining room tonight. It gave him time to think. Perhaps he’d send Juanita home early, close up with the night crew.

 

                There were more thoughts crowding into his head when he strode through the doors, his attention inward as he walked into the busy dining area. The tables were full tonight, and a quick scan told him that he’d definitely need to spend some time behind the counter for the first hour or so. He was almost to the hallway leading to his office when he stopped suddenly, his line of sight swinging back to one table in particular. A young dark-haired woman sat in the booth with her little boy, the girl instantly recognizable to Gus. They were sitting quietly eating their food. Gus continued his path to his office, but alarm bells were going off inside him.

 

                It was less than ten minutes before she approached him, after he’d taken over a register. He’d checked with the kitchen first, noted that Trina was on the drive-thru before taking a position behind the counter, sending Jenn out into the dining room to wipe down tables. The customer in front of him was taking a while to make up his mind, staring at the menu board utterly perplexed as if awaiting a sign from the fast food gods. He could see her standing behind the man, her tray in hand, but Gus let his smile stay fixed on his face as he waited stiffly to punch in the gentleman’s order. “Perhaps the Chalupa combo?” he suggested, his tone as friendly and solicitous as was generically possible.

 

                As soon as the man walked away, the girl came up with a strained smile, setting her tray on the counter. The plate held a full dinner, barely touched.

 

                “How may I help you?” he asked smoothly, while below the counter, his fingers twitched.

 

                “Yes, I hope so. I’m … not particularly happy with the chicken. I asked for the three-piece meal, but they’re all dry and rather tasteless. I’d like to get my money back, please.”

 

                “I apologize for your displeasure with the quality and I assure you that it is not typical. At Los Pollos Hermanos, our goal is to provide the best experience for our customers, and the best taste. Why don’t you let me replace the meal with something else on the menu? Whatever you would like.” He gestured to the board as if he were touting a new car on a game show.

 

                “I don’t want anything else,” she said belligerently. “My son is finished eating and I need to get him home. We don’t have time to wait around. I just want my money back.” She tilted her head with another disingenuous smile. “And just a suggestion, but you might want to add a little more seasoning. This was pretty bland.”

 

                “I would very much appreciate the opportunity for you to give us another chance, Miss … I’m sorry, what is your name?”

 

                “Cantillo.”

 

                “Miss Cantillo, of course I will happily give you your money back, but please, allow me to offer you this gift voucher for a free meal upon your next visit.” He grabbed a pen off the till and quickly scrawled his name across the bottom of a card. Gus used his key to open the drawer to take out the exact amount of the three-piece chicken meal with tax, then handed her the money along with the card. “I am the owner of this establishment,” he told her as he dropped the change into her waiting palm. “I would be very interested to know how your next experience compares. My name is on the voucher. Feel free to ask for me when you visit us again.”

 

                The girl looked at his signature, said it aloud slowly. “Gustavo Fring. _¿Cuánto tiempo ha estado en este país?_ ”

 

                “Quite some time,” he answered in English, masking his irritation behind a broader smile.

 

                “Not Mexican, obviously. Brazilian?”

 

                Gus bent his head an inch to slyly glance at the line behind her, just enough so that she noticed. “No. _Yo soy de Chile._ Once again, I am terribly sorry that your meal was not to your satisfaction. I hope that you will return. Was there anything else that I could help you with?”

 

                “Mami, when are we going?” a voice spoke up beside her. The child tugged on his mother’s hand before glancing up shyly to Gus.

 

                “Wait just a moment,” he said to her quickly, before turning around to the plexi case that held the turnovers and empanadas. He took two of the empanadas out and put them in a bag, then handed it to her. “Please. For your little boy.”

 

                “Well, thank you for being so agreeable,” she said, her expression grim as she took the offering. “I’m sure you’ll see me again.” She nodded to him. “ _Buenas noches, Señor Fring.”_

Gus nodded back to her and watched her walk away clutching the boy’s hand. The next customer began talking but he kept his eyes on them. She glanced back at him once before they disappeared through the glass door. “I’m so sorry,” Gus apologized to the woman in front of him. “Could you repeat that, please?”

 

* * *

 

 

                He heard the car door slam from his office and Gus quickly cleared his laptop and shut it closed, already half out of his seat. Gus had the front door open before Jesse had even made it up the front walkway, startling the boy as he was about to step onto the porch.

 

                “Oh, hey. Uh, what’s up?” he asked, frowning.

 

                “Jesse. Please, come in,” Gus said, a thrill crackling in his nerves like static. He shut the door as soon as Jesse took a few steps inside and the sound of the wood fitting into the jamb was the most satisfying thing he’d heard all week. It heralded the next twenty-four hours with Jesse to do with as he pleased. And he had quite the list.

 

                “Something going on?” the boy enquired, appearing uneasy. He stuffed his hands in his jean pockets. “You don’t usually … I mean, I thought you dug the ritual.”

 

                “I do,” Gus agreed. “But tonight we are going on a little outing. I wanted to get you ready first.”

 

                Jesse was instantly rattled. “Outing? Like, what kind of outing? We’re not … yo, I’m not getting that other piercing already, am I? I thought you said I had a couple of weeks to heal.”

 

                “Do not worry; we’re not going to see Ernesto today. I have someplace else in mind. Some … people I’d like you to meet. I had your outfit picked up from the tailor – the clothes you were fitted for along with the suit.”

 

                “People? Why don’t you just tell me what this is about, Gus? You’re making me nervous.”

 

                He waved a hand to the stairs. “Let us go draw your bath, first. And I think we’ll need to give you a shave. I’ll explain more while I wash you up.”

 

                “Can’t you just tell me now? I mean, you’re getting me dressed all swanky again, right? If it’s those same clothes? Where’re we going?”

 

                “It is just to a club,” Gus explained, speaking rapidly. “We are going to see some clients – _potential_ clients I’d like to do business with. I could use some backup, as they say, and I want you there with me.”

 

                “Me? Why? What do you need me for?”

 

                But Gus was eager to get things under way. “Please, can we get upstairs? We need to be there at nine.”

 

                Jesse finally gave up his questioning with an eyeroll then trod his way up in front of Gus as they made their way to the bedroom. When he stopped at the doorway to take off his shoes and unbutton his jeans, Gus couldn’t suppress his pleasure over the boy’s commitment to routine. Jesse undressed in the hall as Gus passed him to get the bath started. The outfit for the evening was hanging over the door to the closet, covered in plastic. He could hardly wait to see it on Pinkman, and as he glanced behind him to catch Jesse down to his underwear, he thought about the gift he had in store for him and how gratifying it was to see the continuing transformation of Walter’s former partner.

 

                The bathroom was void of conversation as Gus scrubbed Jesse clean, washed his hair, even shaved off the day’s worth of stubble. Afterwards, he slathered on a facial cream, massaging it gently into Jesse’s fine pores. Jesse allowed himself to be led around and Gus had to employ all of his restraint to not engage in some foreplay as he toweled the boy down in front of the closet’s mirror. The piercings looked to be healing nicely, and once again, Gus’s mind drifted off to the moment when he’d have Jesse to dally with all to himself. But the rendezvous with the Venezuelans was going to be a big step for both Gus and Jesse. There was a lot that he wanted to teach the boy, and beginning with negotiations was a good way to gauge Jesse’s strengths.

 

                “So, what is this? Silk?” Jesse noted, as he slicked the material between a finger and thumb, while Gus went about freeing the slacks. “I’m gonna sweat like a pig in this if we’re going to a club. Get ready for some major pit stains.”

 

                “You will be fine. This is Italian-made. The material is meant to hug your body, which is why I wanted it fitted properly. A man should always have at least one suit and a few dress shirts tailored to his frame. And if at all possible, one bespoke in his closet. It makes all the difference in the way people look at you.”

 

                “Uh, yeah, but if you don’t want them looking too hard, isn’t it better to stay away from the flash? I mean, what people are we talking about, here?”

 

                “I am certainly not referring to the DEA. I want you to take note of our guests this evening. Pay attention to the way they carry themselves, what drinks they ask for, the beats in their conversation. This can be very educational for you.”

 

                “What is this, the school field trip?” Jesse asked sarcastically. “You think I don’t know how to, like, _conduct_ myself with upper level, or something? As long as they ain’t speaking Spanish, I’ll be fine.”

 

                 
                Gus had leaned down to hold up the pants so that Jesse could step inside the legs, the press of a palm resting lightly to Gus’s back as he lifted up each foot. “They will be speaking Spanish, for the most part, but you just need to follow my lead. Now, finish buttoning the shirt. I have a belt for you, as well.” He straightened and let Jesse zip himself up, sliding open one of the drawers to pick through the thin belts rolled against each other. When he turned back to the boy, Jesse’s gaze was fixed to the end wall, his expression troubled as he stared at the mounted array. He jerked his eyes back to Gus as soon as he noticed he was being watched.

 

                “Oh, nice. What did this set you back, like four hundred bucks or something,” he commented, twisting at the waist as he slipped the leather through the belt loops.

 

                “Are you suggesting I’m something of a clotheshorse?” Gus bristled. “I appreciate quality. I don’t mind paying more for something extraordinary,” he said pointedly.

 

                “Uh, no kidding. Was that the pick-up line you used on Walt? No wonder he was such a prick about being your guy, you making him feel all special.” Jesse’s sardonic grin threw Gus for a moment. He wasn’t sure if Jesse was mocking him or Walter or both, but the smirk was run through with the kind of confidence that Gus was drawn to, an undeniable thread of sex woven through each glance. It only made him want Jesse more.

 

                “Let’s leave Walter out of the discussion tonight. We don’t need to draw any attention to past discord. We must project a united front, you and I.” He brushed the back of Jesse’s shirt across his shoulders, the blue color brilliant under the track lighting of the walk-in. “You are my cook, and therefore a very essential figure in our business. Perhaps even the most essential.” He met Jesse’s eyes in the glass. The boy looked more worried than flattered.

 

                “I’m not gonna –you know, have to explain it to them, am I? The process, I mean. ‘Cause I don’t think I could do that.”

 

                “Believe me, these men are not interested in the science. Just the profits.” Gus played with Jesse’s collar, sweeping both points down so that they bared his neck. The boy looked striking in bold colors, the slate grey sharkskin slacks highlighting his slim frame and shaping his rear end in a wholly favorable fashion. Gus wanted the men to be literally dazzled by his protégé. He had to make Jesse see his worth, convince him that he could take on a heavier mantle within the organization, not just as an empty name at Los Pollos. He squeezed the boy’s shoulders and spoke softly into his ear. “I have something for you.”

 

                Jesse still appeared uneasy. “Like what?”

 

                Taking a few steps to another one of the drawers, he pulled it open, his smile immediate as his sight fell on the gift. Something rose in his chest, something feathery and ebullient, as he removed the small box from its nest, handing it to Jesse with a barely contained pride. Jesse stared at him suspiciously before taking it, quickly snapping off the lid to see what lay inside. The light caught in the serpentine gold swaddled by a white bed of cotton. Gus picked up the thick herringbone chain and unclasped it.

 

                “I wanted you to have this.” He stood behind Jesse to close it at the neck.

 

                “You got me a necklace?” The boy sounded surprised and a glance up revealed Pinkman’s concern in the weight of his brows.

 

                “Yes. I am used to seeing men adorned with gold in my country. It is traditional. And on someone like you, it is very flattering.”

 

                “What’s that mean? Someone like me?”

 

                “Young and _attractive_ ,” Gus insisted with the raise of an eyebrow. “You look very handsome.”

 

                “Whatever,” the boy drawled, but Gus noticed the color flaring in his cheeks. If the Venezuelans' business hadn’t been so important to him, he would have thrown Jesse to the floor and had his way with him right then. But his will persevered even as he raked fingers over an ear through Jesse’s hair.

 

                “It is true. Now that you are out of those ridiculous hoodlum outfits you once favored, you’ve become an alluring presence. People like to look at you.”

 

                “Jesus, stop. You’re embarrassing yourself. You sound like –” Jesse’s expression froze as he stalled, looked down at the floor before running a hand over his scalp. “Anyway, thanks, I guess. When are we leaving? Are you going like that?”

 

                Gus looked down at his own casual wear. “No. I need to change. Why don’t you go downstairs and watch television while I get dressed. Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. It may be a while before we eat.” Jesse started to leave but Gus called him back. “Wait, we need to do your hair,” he noted and went to find some gel.

 

                By the time they got into the Volvo, Gus had less than a half hour to get there. While he normally liked to be the first one to arrive for a meeting, he specifically wanted them waiting before he and Jesse walked in. It made him think of his days with Max again, the delight he took in parading his lover around. Gus shot a glance towards Jesse, who sat biting his lip while he tapped his fingers rhythmically on the dash. The gold at his throat shone under the streetlights while the sheen of his shirt was luminous.

 

                “I told you, there is nothing to be worried about. You will do fine. I just want them to meet you.”

 

                Jesse gave a doubtful shake of his head, heaving a sigh. “I don’t know. I’m not sure what you want from me.”

 

                “I want you to be yourself,” Gus assured him. Knowing something of the men Ramón had invited, he expected that they would enjoy Jesse’s company without him having to say much. His old associate was very direct in his predilections, and had a tendency to do business with those that could share in his fancies.

 

                When they pulled into the parking lot, they were met with the thumping sounds of the bass escaping the building, lights of green and yellow and red splashed across the outside walls. The letters on the sign were like dripping diamonds and Jesse gaped at Gus in horror.

 

                “Yo, is this for real? This is what you meant by a club?”

 

                “Yes,” Gus said. “There is a dance floor, with dining in the back. We will be in the VIP area. It is loud, but we will have some privacy to do business.”

 

                “So, like what happened to the chicken farm? I thought that’s where you always had your meetings. You know, out in a remote area, your guys covering the place. Veggie plate and coffee if they want refreshments. Made sense.” He waved a hand over his clothes. “What’s with this new style, Gus? What are we, re-living your disco days, or something?”

 

                “I have known one of these men for a long time. He is a bit of a … playboy, I suppose you would say.” Gus dipped his head to look across the lot. “We should get going. They will be waiting for us by now.”

 

                “So … these guys like to party,” Jesse confirmed, looking distrustful once again. “What are they into?”

 

                “I do not know what you mean,” Gus said. “Ramón likes to have fun. That is all. We are meeting here so they may be entertained. Keep the clients happy, isn’t this what you would prescribe also?”

 

                “Fine,” he relented, opening the door to step outside.

 

                Once they walked inside, the bass swallowed them up, the rest of the music washing over them with the dizzying spin of oscillating lights. A statuesque girl in a very skimpy dress greeted them, and Gus shouted his reservation to her. The hostess smiled at them both as she grabbed some menus, her eyes sweeping over Jesse with a sly assessment. They followed her up some steps to a floor above the dancing bodies, which gyrated and bounced in time to the music like one giant organism. Jesse turned to lean against the railing, peered down at the swirl of people moving in ecstasy. Lights flashed upon his face, his expression a mix of discomfort and disapproval. Gus touched his hip and the boy jumped, but Gus pointed forward to the back of their moving hostess.

 

                When they arrived at their table in the cordoned-off area, three men sat together carousing in loud voices. Ramón stood up with arms raised, bellowing for him.

 

                “Gustavo! _V_ _iejo amigo! Cojeme!_ _¡Sí_ , _aqui_ _sigo, cabrón!_ ”

 

            Gus smiled broadly, putting a hand at the small of Jesse’s back and pushing him forward.

 

            “ _Hola, amigo.”_ He extended a hand as soon as they reached the table, but Ramón grabbed him in a hug, instead, giving him a wet, sloppy kiss to his cheek. The other two men stayed seated but looked on with merriment, their cocktail drinks already near empty. Gus reached down to shake their hands as soon as Ramón let go of him. “ _Hola, senores. Bienvenidos, los dos.”_

“I barely understood that, mate,” one of the gentlemen said as he grabbed his hand with a firm grip. He spoke with a thick Australian accent. “But I’m guessing it was a welcome.”

 

            Ramón switched to English as he introduced his guests. “Gustavo, this is Rich Summers. He’s been very interested to meet you for some time. And this is Javier Barrera. Javier comes from a very well known family. You know of his father. He has had a few troubles with the same men that you are - _were -_ well acquainted with, Gustavo. We are hoping to open some lines of shipping in new waters for our cargo.”

 

            Gus bent his head demurely. “Ah. I have heard about these troubles.”

 

            “I expect you have,” Barrera said, the line somewhat cryptic as he graced Gus with a tight, damning smile.

 

            “You’ve got the Mexican cartels by the balls, right now,” the Australian joked. “I wanted to meet the man with the most massive _cajones_ this side of the Western Hemisphere _.”_

Gus noted the silence beside him and turned to his companion. “Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet one of the men in my organization. He has been invaluable to me, particularly down in Juarez. This is the talent – the jewel of our operation – Jesse Pinkman.”

 

            “This isn’t Heisenberg, is it?” the Australian asked with some awe.

 

            “Nah, I was his partner, though,” Jesse piped up as he shook the man’s hand. “I know all his tricks.”

 

            The Australian laughed as his eyes scraped over Jesse. “Oh, I bet you know a lot of tricks, love.”

 

            Jesse didn’t comment but his expression turned bothered as he glanced over at Gus.

 

            Ramón spoke in Spanish again, leaning in close to Gus as he nodded towards the boy. “Gustavo, I see your tastes are still as fine as ever. Especially when it comes to your cooks.”

 

            “He knows what he’s doing,” Gus muttered back in Spanish so that Jesse wouldn’t hear, before resuming in English, “Shall we sit down?”

 

            A waitress came over once they were all seated again to take their drink order. Ramón and his cohorts asked for another round, while Gus made his selection for a few bottles of wine to be brought to the table. The woman smiled at Jesse. “And what can I get you, gorgeous?”

 

                All eyes turned to Jesse who seemed to take in the attention with a not-so-subtle awkwardness. “Uh, I’ll just have a Coke, please.”

 

                “A C _ao_ ke? Aw, now that’s not fehr. After business, we’re all planning on gettin’ pissed. I was hoping I’d get to see what you looked like loaded off your arse.”

 

                Jesse stayed calm, just his jaw flexing. “Yeah, well, I’m a drug addict, so … I’m staying sober these days.”

 

                It was quiet at first, with more than a few raised eyebrows directed to Gus. “Jesse was in sales before he moved to production. He’s very well acquainted with the market. He knows the consumers we are trying to reach, knows intimately their buying habits, what they are looking for.”

 

                The boy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, he’s saying I started out as a _dealer._ But I’m like the Jeffersons, I’m movin’ on up. And I hear you gentlemen are interested in my –” he threw a quick glance to Gus – “ _our_ product. So let’s talk some business then.”

 

                “My word,” Ramón said. “I think we are interested in whatever you’re selling, my dear. But let’s not jump into the dreary stuff right away. I want to catch up with my good friend, here.” He grinned to Gus with a damning shake of his head, speaking in Spanish again. “Are you trying to sweeten the pot for us with this one? We've all heard what happened, Gus. The other cartels are afraid of you now. No need to bring us candy.”

 

                “Speak for yourself,” Javier added with a lingering gaze on Jesse, both he and the Australian looking annoyed as the men continued to converse in their native language.

 

                “Gentlemen, let us not be rude to our associates.” Gus gave Jesse a polite smile as he rested a hand on the boy’s arm. “Sorry, we were just going over old history.”

 

                But Jesse was glaring at him by this point, his body rigid in his chair. “Oh, really? Is that what you were talking about?”

 

                “So how long were you pahtners with this Heisenberg fellow,” the Australian interrupted. “I heard some wicked tales about him. Are they all true?”

 

                “Depends on what you’ve heard,” the boy snapped, his voice rising over the music. “But I was there every step of the way, so I was part of all the action. I’m the one who taught him everything about the business.”

 

                “Did you, now?” The man looked impressed. “What else did you teach him?” He smirked. “And would you be willing to teach me?” The rest of the men laughed, but Jesse stayed unnaturally still, his face a blank mask. Gus noticed the rise and swell of his chest as the boy’s breathing grew heavier. “I got a lot o’ money, dahling,” Summers teased. Jesse’s leg started to jiggle under the table, and Gus put a hand on it to calm him down, watching Jesse’s throat work as he gulped down his distress. Twirling lights flashed over his expression, bounced off his slicked hair, making him ghostly and threatening at once.

 

                The waitress came back to them, her tray crowded with their drinks while a man rolled a trolley up behind her with a vase of ice, a champagne bottle sticking out of its center. The requested wine bottles studded the top. As she placed the Coke in front of Jesse, he turned to Gus, his face tight. “Can I have a word with you, please,” he asked, the slight tremor in his voice giving away his fury. He swallowed thickly again. “Now.” The other men were talking over each other, the Australian making lewd comments about the girl’s behind as she set down his drink.

 

                “Hey!” Jesse yelled to Summers. “There’s no need for that. She doesn’t get paid enough to put up with your sexist bullshit.”

 

                “Well, how would you know? I’m a pretty big tippah. But nice outburst, I like that. That’s bound to get you laid, laddie. I’m sure the young lady, here, will be sucking your cock before the night is through. If that’s what you want.”

 

                Gus crooked Jesse’s arm before he could get in the Australian’s face and made him stand up with him. “Gentlemen, if you would please excuse us for a moment. We just need to go over a few things.” And he pulled his tetchy partner along as he made tracks for the restrooms.

 

                He dragged Jesse to a back hallway, past the bathroom doors where a few men milled about chatting on phones. Steering him to a vacant spot, he pressed Jesse up against the wall. “What do you think you are doing?” he asked through clenched teeth.

 

                “No, what the fuck are _you_ doing, Gus? What is this shit?” Jesse was instantly indignant, sweeping a hand towards the wall to indicate their party on the other side.

 

                He grabbed Jesse’s wrist and pulled his arm down. “We are here to negotiate a deal. Let the men have their teasing; there is no need to be petulant just because you don’t like what they say.”

 

                “Oh-ho, is that what that is?” he laughed bitterly, his eyes popping wide in his face. “ _Negotiating?_ Like you didn’t already promise them something, right?”

 

                “I do not know what you mean,” Gus confessed.

 

                Jesse’s eyes shone dangerously as he stared Gus down. “What did you tell them?” he whispered, breathing hard. “That I’d, what? Suck their dicks? That they could … like, I’m supposed to be some sort of bargaining chip? Selling my ass to your queer buddies so you can expand your territory? That’s why I’m here, right? Well, I didn’t sign up for that. You don’t get to play my pimp, Gus,” he choked out, barely holding in his rage. “So you can tell those _assholes_ that I ain’t doin’ whatever fucked up shit you promised ‘em.” The boy was trembling, his arms hanging stiffly while his hands curled into fists.

 

                Gus was taken aback. It hadn’t occurred to him that Jesse would see the men’s flirting as a threat. “You have this all wrong,” he told him clearly. “I made no such promises. This is not why I brought you at all.”

 

                “Really? You sure about that? Why’d you make me look like this, then? Dressing me up like I’m your fucking Barbie doll. Putting shit in my hair. The jewelry. You’re telling me you didn’t do it on purpose? Trying to make them think I’m something that I’m not? That guy was calling me candy, right? Why’d he say that, then?”

 

                “Lower your voice,” he said in a quiet command. “You are getting upset over nothing. I told you, this was not my plan. I wanted your expertise, Jesse. This is an area that you were proficient at once, yes? It was my understanding that you were quite known for your skills as –” he looked around them to make sure the men still loitering were nowhere near them – “a dealer.” Jesse gave him another wounded, skeptical look. “Alright. I will admit to … wanting to show you off.” He stared deep into the boy’s blue eyes, attempting to impart his complete sincerity. “But, Jesse, I give you my word. These men … they will not touch you.” His voice deepened, enunciating each word with a hard drop. “You … belong … to _me._ When we are together, I share you with no one else. You are here to please me, not them.”

 

                Jesse blinked erratically a few times before turning away, his face flushed. “Fine,” he mumbled.

 

                Gus placed a finger under Jesse’s chin, made him swing his head back so they could lock eyes again. “The Australian market is wide open for us. There is a growing demand for what we provide; this is why Summers is here. He‘s been making inquiries about your former partner for a while. Barrera is part of Venezuela’s most prominent cartel. They are a gateway. Right now, he believes he is here as an envoy, that they will essentially provide passage for our product. To piggyback with the heroin and cocaine they smuggle through Europe and now in direct routes across the Pacific Ocean. But this is an opportunity, also. I want Barrera to see the potential benefits of what we manufacture. I want you to seduce them, yes, but with your charm, not your body.” He gripped either side of Jesse’s shoulders. “Can you do this for me?”

 

                The boy said nothing for a few beats, staring back at Gus just as intently. Finally, he sighed and cast his eyes to the ceiling. “I guess.” He peered back into Gus’s face, seemed to search for something. “Yeah, I can do that,” he said, a strong resolve back in his voice. Gus smiled.

 

                “Good.”

 

                When they got back to the table, the gentlemen were grinning like hyenas, their muttered comments to each other setting off more laughter. They all watched Jesse take a seat and sip from his glass, their chatter ceasing. “I apologize, gentlemen,” Gus started. “We needed to –”

 

                “It was just a misunderstanding,” Jesse cut off. “But we’re all good now. Isn’t that right, babe?” He smiled at Gus and Gus was stopped short by the sheer beauty of it. Jesse reached over to put a hand on Gus’s thigh, the movement visible to the rest of their group. “He gets a little jealous,” he said with a conspiratorial whisper as he leaned into the table.

 

                “Gustavo is a lucky man,” Ramón commented with amusement. “It is we who are jealous.”

 

                The boy smiled wider. “Aww, you say things like that and you’re gonna make me blush, Ramón.”

 

                “I wouldn’t mind seeing thet,” the Australian said with a grin while Gus struggled to play along. “I bet you blush all over, love.”

 

                Jesse laughed, deep in his throat, and it was sexy and thrilling, making everyone at the table suddenly sit up straighter. “You might be right. But I don’t think Gus is going to let you find out.” He glanced towards Gus as he leaned back in his chair, spreading his legs, his expression coquettish and playful. “This one’s kind of possessive.” He winked at the men. “He’s got me on a short leash. _Literally.”_ He laughed again, an eyebrow darting up high at the absurdity, and the men joined in, eyeballing Gus with varying levels of respect. Gus felt the corner of his mouth lift.

 

                The champagne had been opened and Gus poured some into a fluted glass. He held it aloft. “Gentlemen, it’s time to stop ogling my cook and start discussing what brings us all here. I’d like to hear more about these new shipping corridors.”

 

                “Ah, but we are multi-taskers, Gustavo. We can do both,” Barrera said slyly. Gus was leery of the man. His father was a Colombian, had been nicknamed _El Loco_ for his infamous temper and violent retaliations. But they had heavy ties to the Cartel de los Soles and Gus needed that protection. He could use the man as an in, but realized with some irony that he was being honest when he told Jesse that he wasn’t on the table for these negotiations. He wouldn’t offer the boy up.

 

                “Well, first off, I have to ask – are you gentlemen even familiar with our product?” Jesse asked, turning serious.

 

                “We know all about it,” Summers said. “We’ve heard it’s the finest of its kind.”

 

                “Oh, so you _heard._ But you really don’t _know_ first-hand, do you?” Jesse leaned in over the table again and this time the other men followed suit, their heads all drawing together in the center, their drinks forgotten. “Now, I’ve done it _all,_ okay? Weed, blow, speedballs, H, you name it. Whatever I could get my hands on.” He spoke only loud enough to be heard in their circle, the music still a drowning bassline above them, but the men hung on his every word. Jesse tapped a forceful finger to the tabletop. “But the _blue?_ Hands down, the best high you’re ever gonna have. _Smooth_ , you know? And pure as the fucking driven snow. We’re talkin’ three points shy of 100%. You ain’t gonna find anything else on the streets that’s as chemically sound.”

 

                For the next twenty minutes Gus watched as Jesse held court. He regaled the men with stories, offered up facts with conviction, and flirted shamelessly. Every coy smile, every wicked smirk, was a mainline to Gus’s cock. He could feel himself changing, and knew beyond reason that he was helpless to halt the process. Seeing the boy so confident, so disarming, Gus understood that he had become more emotionally invested in his cook than he’d ever expected to. He wanted Jesse, and he wanted him more than just one day a week. The added time he’d been able to spend with the young man recently had shown him this. And the evening had further illuminated something to Gus: he wanted the boy completely. That meant no Walter, no girl, no anyone who served as a distraction. He had loved Max more than he could bear; had even loved Pilar in his own way, but what he felt for Jesse was something new and inexplicable.

 

                Jesse laughed out loud with the men again, tipping his head back and slapping his hands in amusement, and Gus took the moment to put his hand behind Jesse’s neck, pulling him near so he could whisper into his ear.

 

                “Remember. You belong to me.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. I'm finally settled in my new home, and now getting sucked into the holiday madness. I also have the Blue Christmeth exchange that I'm participating in this year, so we'll have to see how the next chapter goes. I have it all mapped out in my head (it's one of those scenes I've been building to, that play as film for my imagination, so they usually get penned pretty quickly. It's going to be a lot of fun to write, too), but we'll see how RL intervenes. 
> 
> Noodles and natasha - thanks! I'm glad you were happy to see Andrea discover the truth. Jesse needs a civilian in his corner. Things well get interesting in this relationship.
> 
> Jennifurby - Wow, that was a lovely review! You're so kind to say such things. And I'm thrilled that the scenes between Jesse and Andrea worked so well for you. I really wanted so much for her in the show, so it's really gratifying to be able to write her as a full fledged character. And yes, on Jesse figuring out he was being spied on. I wanted a ricin/Brock moment, I suppose. It seemed so clear to me, how Jesse managed to make those leaps in figuring out Walter's involvement in the poisoning, but for some viewers, they didn't think Jesse was smart enough to make that jump. I really felt he was in the perfect headspace for that epiphany. He remembers so many things, and him putting it together like that was not a stretch for me at all.
> 
> SegaBarrett - I love how much you love Andrea! Thanks for your continued support.
> 
> mehitabel - thank you again for coming back to the story and continuing your reviews. They're wonderful to read. And yes, I sort of felt that many of you were a little squeamish to see Jesse get more piercings, so that may have contributed to me cutting the scene. But there's more squeamish stuff to come, I promise.
> 
> In case I don't get anything posted before New Years, happy holidays, all. The Spanish herein hasn't been proofed, so I hope it's not butchered.


	30. The Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa - the whole trifecta.
> 
> I'm indulging myself with this chapter by including a bit of an interactive element. I often use music to inspire me as I write. In a few cases, the music is meant to accompany a specific action, and since I am already a huge fan of film scores, I wanted to create a textural landscape by inserting my music choices into the fiction. In the club scene, I've linked some youtube clips that - if you would like - you can open in another window and listen along with the scene as its written. Lyrics have been folded into the text and I did my best to align them with the soundtrack. It's not required, of course, but it certainly conveys a particular kind of mood and setting.

 

 

******

 

_You asking me if I can cook Mr. White's crystal without him? Me? The junkie loser you were about to waste and dump in the desert a month ago?_

 

                Jesse eased back away from Gus, smiling like the cat that ate the canary. He patted his shirt at the pocket, slid up in his chair as he moved his hands to his ass. “Aw, shit,” he said. “I forgot my cigarettes in the car.” He looked hopefully across the table. “Any of you fellas got one you can spare?”

 

                It was a joke how quickly they all fumbled for their packs. The skinny guy with the crocodile grin offered one first, the top of his elegant European box cocked open to reveal a thin row of dark tips. Jesse leaned over to his right, elbow on the table, and reached for the cigarette with his mouth, pulling it between his lips and teeth and extracting it from the pack as slowly as he could. He stared into the guy’s eyes, trying to promote the idea of him that he knew was in all of their heads. “Got a light?” he asked seductively from the side of his mouth. A gold lighter materialized before him, the man holding it flicking up the flame. Jesse could feel their eyes on him as he inhaled through the filter. He tipped his head back, stiffened his mouth into a tight circle and then released the smoke in consecutive rings above his head, his jaw working with subtle clicks. The music wasn’t to his usual tastes but it was definitely growing on him, the drum beats knocking loose the tight band in his chest. Synth pop drowned out the rest of the world and he was fine with that, keenly aware of the way the men and Gus watched him sucking on his cigarette while experiencing an adrenaline rush doused with bravura and contempt. Peering at them through heavy lids and a smoky haze, Jesse did his best to convey an aura of sexual power, his mind floating on the music, letting it fill him as their mouths moved; each of them trying to tell him things about their routes and their needs when the only thing written in their eyes was what they wanted to do to him.

 

                He’d seen that hunger from women before, of course – he’d always gravitated to the older ones that took an interest, until he’d gotten too mixed up in drugs and started settling for skanks to keep him company. But with women, they were busy trying to glean what he would do to them, not the other way around, and he’d always been able to exert some idea of control with that desire. He was in foreign waters here. Jesse thought about Jane and the way she’d often leave him feeling like he was walking in quicksand, but that was because he wanted her so badly. She’d had all the control, he knew that now. And Jesse wondered what that could feel like.

 

                Gus was discussing quantity, calling out weights and measures, and Jesse had a cursory thought about his increasing workload. It was too much already. Exponential growth would make him more money, but he couldn’t do it all on his own. He wondered where Gus was really going with this deal, having learned enough about the man to know that there were no simple transactions in Gus’s world. He had another angle for sure. There was some talk about another cartel, something to do with suns, and once their host mentioned a name, Gus suddenly became more talkative.

 

                “You won’t be getting a meeting with Caravajal,” Mr. Crazy Hair was saying. The man looked like he’d never worked a day in his life – doughy and perpetually sunbathed, with a perm that might have been relevant thirty years ago but just looked ridiculous in their current setting. He was a caricature in his white suit and gold chains; like he’d stepped out of a movie about cocaine dealers. “No one knows where he is,” he finished saying, and Jesse noticed how Gus’s expression tightened a fraction, that placid smile still in place.

 

                “That is unfortunate,” Gus answered. “Perhaps you gentlemen can inform me when he resurfaces.”

 

                The conversation was getting boring and Jesse slurped the last of his disappointing Coke over ice cubes wishing he had the real thing. Listening to the men discuss cargo, he could visualize the white powder clearly like the cap of a snowy mountain, imagined that the lights reflecting on the slick black table were lines of cocaine or his beautiful blue crystal. He worked his jaw, his teeth grinding together, the thumping sounds at his back calling to him, like a siren song of his beloved substances. His thoughts flitted to Andrea, seeing her worried face in his mind. He wished that he had gotten high with her at least once before she gave it up. Snorting meth off her tits while he had her tied down, her legs spread on high the way Gus had done to him. Jesse looked behind him at the lights and crowd, a need settling in his gut.

 

                The waitress was at their table again with her drink tray and this time it was filled with shot glasses. One was set down in front of him and he threw a surprised look to Gus. “Um, what’s this?”

 

                “We are making a toast, my dear. Everyone needs to drink, even you,” Crazy Hair grinned with a raise of his shoulders. “Reposado. You will be fine.”

 

                Gus tipped his head to Jesse. “It is alright. Just this once,” he said, his approval rankling Jesse though he was quick to mask it. The men watched the exchange with some fascination. He picked up the glass and held it towards them as the Australian cheered, “To new friends.” Jesse chimed in with the rest of them and knocked the tequila back, the burn on this throat satisfying.

 

                “We should get some food,” Gus suggested, raising a hand to call back the waitress. But Jesse was restless suddenly, needed to move around. He crushed his cigarette in the ashtray and stood up. All eyes at the table followed him.

 

                “I’ll, uh, be right back. Just need the john. Go ahead and order for me,” he told Gus with a pat to his shoulder. Before Gus could say anything, Jesse was walking away, off to the back corridor where the restrooms were located. Once he got there, however, he took a turn and made his way to the steps leading down to the catwalk over the dance floor. ([https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fD0Vl4l7F8o ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fD0Vl4l7F8o)) As he gazed out on the floor below, a zig-zagging sound like a didgeridoo bounced across the room. The music was strange, but he liked watching the bodies writhe and move, lost in the lights. He wanted to move with them, wanted to let go. And he realized that he could. He was all that was holding him back. Thinking of Andrea again, he remembered what she’d said to him. He could do this. He wouldn’t let his fear rule him. He bent over the railing a bit, the swirl of movement below him making him feel like he could fall in, that the bodies on the ground would keep him afloat like a boat on a storm. The longer he stared the more the dancers coalesced into a roiling dark cloud of shiny heads, the spinning colors like flashes of lightning.

 

_Disappear, into the dust_   
_Lost on your horse_   
_Blown away, by your gust_   
_Lost on your horse_

 

                “You wanna dance?” a voice shouted next to him. Jesse turned to see a girl standing there on vertiginous high heels, her dress sparkly and sitting high on her thighs. Her cleavage spilled out of the low v-cut; long, shiny black hair swathed on her breasts. It was as if he’d summoned her out of the air, an amalgamation of Jane and Andrea appearing to soothe his nerves.

 

                “I don’t really dance,” he shouted back with a sly grin. She walked up to the railing and leaned on it with him, drawing closer to speak into his ear. He could see right down her dress, the swollen shape of a bronzed breast peeking through under the lights. _Like a grain of sand, lost in your storm_

 

                “Bullshit,” she said. “I’ve been watching you since you got here. You don’t get to look like you do and not dance.”

 

                He laughed, feeling suddenly playful. The song playing crooned around them. _Too bright to even see the sun. More and more sand in my eyes._

“Yeah, I don’t know. I’m kind of with this … group. They’re expecting me back.”

 

                “I saw that,” she grinned. “A little old for you, aren’t they?”

 

                He laughed again, louder and shot from his belly. The tequila was working a lot faster than he was used to. “Yeah, well … it’s all for show,” he told her. “They got something I need,” he rasped. Jesse grabbed her hand, the music feeding him. “Come on. Let’s go down there.”

 

                It had been a long time since he’d been in this kind of crowd, but the press of bodies around him as they made their way to the center of the floor was a comfort, taking him back to the early parties at his house before his environment had turned dark and depressing. The throbbing pulse worked through him, and for a moment he felt the room tilt and vibrate, the sensation as close to that first jolt of a high as he was likely to get. The thrill infused him with a sense of invulnerability. _Riding on. Getting lost. Lost oooooon your horse._

 

                “My name’s Cassie, what’s yours?” the girl shouted as she moved closer to him, already starting to sway her hips.

 

                “Jesse. Thanks for talking me into this, Cassie.” He took hold of her waist and brought her body near enough that her breasts brushed his chest, his hips matching her movements. Her hands slid up to his shoulders and she clasped them behind his neck, her moves becoming more aggressive while her head snapped back and forth. Jesse gazed out over the mass of dancers with what he imagined to be a dopey smile. He liked being a part of the throng again; his imposed exile had been no good for his state of mind. He’d been punishing himself too long. _More and more sand into my eyes. In my eyes._

The singer’s husky voice melted over him, like rivulets of honey trailing down the groove of his back, pooling above his ass. He imagined this girl licking it up, could almost feel the rough scratch of a tongue under his shirt. He moved with her, no longer caring how he looked. The energy was high in the club and he wanted to eat it all. A buzzing began in his head, vibrated down his spine. Feeling watched, Jesse felt a sudden urge to look up to the top floor. Gus was standing on the bridge, staring down at him. (<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tlMF3I2twgY>) The music folded into another track as Jesse met eyes with Gus. He kept dancing with Cassie, started to rock his body harder, moving his fists above his head as the girl dug her crotch into his. He swiveled his waist and his hips with her, the two of them connected as Jesse leaned back, his hands sliding back down to rest on her ass. He ground her into him and she stared up into his face with a naked hunger that got him going, the tequila quickly burning through his senses. He glanced back up at the catwalk, but Gus was gone. Pushing away his disappointment, Jesse bent forward, rocking over Cassie, his mouth getting dangerously close to hers as they gyrated together, his leg squeezing between hers while she rode him. He breathed her in, along with the scent of the crowd, the sweat and perfumes commingling into something raw and sexual. Cassie’s hand was now hooked around his neck as she leaned back, the other arm swaying from her body.

 

 _I'm done for_  
 _I give up_  
 _Surrender my physical mood_  
 _You make me walk blindly_  
 _Right out of my comforthood_     

 

                Jesse felt someone touch his waist and stroke down to his hip, where fingers gripped him. Cassie’s face turned inquisitive and when Jesse eventually turned his head to look behind him, he couldn’t quite tell if it was surprise or relief to see Gus standing there, his gaze searing into Jesse.

 

_You stroke me_   
_You strike me_   
_As someone who is in control_   
_You eat me_   
_You feed me_   
_You nourish my hungry soul_   
_Hungry soul_

                Gus had shed his coat; his tie loosened with a single button undone at the throat. He seized hold of Jesse’s right hip then pulled him back until Gus’s nose was pressed into the nape of his neck, and it was as if Jesse’s entire body had just been plugged into a wall, volts galvanizing behind his cock, into his balls, and charring the metal at his nipples. _Oh my, oh my, oh my, magnified love._

                He felt his face burn as he reviewed the crowd, trying to capture singular expressions to see if they noticed. A few faces stared back, but their desire bloomed in their dark shark grins and glittery eyes. The girl arched an eyebrow and smirked with her teeth showing, her hands moving to rest above Gus’s. Between the two of them, they started to move Jesse with them, forcing him to bend his legs and push down harder with every gyration. Gus moved with a fluidity that Jesse didn’t share, but he held him so close, his grip tightening until Jesse was moving along with him, grinding his ass into the solidity at his back. This wasn’t how Jesse was used to dancing, and he was finding it difficult not to be embarrassed, the heat in his face radiating out into the crowd. He held on to the girl, tried not to imagine the things Gus would do to him as soon as they got home, but the images came anyway, unbidden and obscene.

 

_You push me_   
_You shove me_   
_You move me every night_

 

                The breath on his neck was making him crazy, made him wish for a bump as the lights swirled around him with a dizzying speed. Jesse closed his eyes, the staccato blip of the music pumping through him until his head pounded.

  
_You move me_   
_You shove me_   
_You move every cell in my body_   
_In my body_

 

                Gus moved his hands and then the girl was in his lap as Jesse rocked himself lower, his rear end dumped in Gus’s pelvis. Jesse was sure that Cassie could feel how hard he was, but he was starting to not care. He let them move him however they wanted, caught in the middle.

 

_You own me_   
_Physically_   
_Possessing me spiritually_

                There was only driving need coursing through him now. Sounds and smells and pulsating colors enveloped him, the feel of hands roving over his body making him want to slip away, to fall into a dream. He tilted his head back, his face to the ceiling as he sought something to douse this fever: a breeze, a gust, but the room crushing him as his mouth opened. Hands caressing him. Gus pressed into the crevice of his ass, the future song of a cock driving into him already playing, the girl now bouncing on his dick. Jesse couldn’t breathe. He didn’t move like this. This wasn’t him. And yet he felt free, freer than he had in months. _Magnified love. Oh my, oh my …._

He wasn’t quite lost, still aware of the bodies around them, but he wanted to be. He was tired of thinking, of plotting, and worrying. Jesse felt his chest expand, felt himself breathing deeply, like he was sucking up the entire room and all of its bodies into his nose. He heard the girl moan into a hiccup and he kept her glued to him. The music changed [again](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dgvlipp54RU), and it was somehow bigger, dreamier, the room falling away until they might as well have been outside, they might as well have been in space. He was weightless, floating, just another pulse bouncing around in the music. Gus nipped at his ear lobe, licked at his neck, the girl still humping his dick, and Jesse was gone. There was a surge in the bodies around him, and when Jesse looked up again it was like seeing the room move in slow motion, everyone and everything a wave that washed over him. A moment of peace settled into his nerves; into tissue, and organs. He was chill, everything was alright. A syncopated drum beat entered into the soundscape, his heart tripping along with it, his dance partners speeding up their pace as their contact with his body came harder. Jesse was caught up with them, unable to stop, feeling safe and sure. If someone offered him another or a half dozen more tequila shots, he wouldn’t be able to say no this time. But he wanted more. He always wanted more. That was the problem. Gus stroked a hand across his belly, his breaths coming fast and cool on his neck, and Jesse recalled the way Gus had held him by the bath, nursed him as he cried. The feelings that Gus evoked in him were confusing and disturbing, but the emotional landscape was nothing new to Jesse. He tipped his face above the crowd again and that breeze wafted across it, brought with it a lazy euphoria, like it was traveling in his blood stream, traipsing atop his nervous system, lightning dancing on telephone wires; that push of joy, sparkling and calming at once. He wanted to let go. But he had to stay in control. The dichotomy was a grand joke and he laughed aloud, the tickle in his chest making him happy for the first time in days.

 

_Maybe I just want to be alone_   
_Tired of searching for the way back home_   
_Stuck in the state of no state at the deep end of sorrow_   
_Changes come, but I can't follow_   
_Stay, stay, stay, stay away_   
_Touched by evil, with nothing more to say_

 

                Just a taste. One little taste and this would be heaven, this would be perfect. Blue crystals danced in glittering shapes around him, the lights brighter, more there, everything still pulsing, as though it was his own heartbeat booming through the room, making everyone move. He suddenly wished that the crowd was gone, that it was just him and Gus and the Janedrea moving together. He didn’t want to be confused any more. And he was tired of being pushed into things. Jesse knew what he wanted, and he knew how to get what he wanted. Andrea was right, he had more control than he realized. Giving in was not necessarily giving up. The music exploded into his ears, the reverb shredding him, mouths on his skin, fingers digging into him, and he wanted to fly. He saw behind his eyes the things he had done with Gus already, flashes of video cuts and the audio creeping in. Saw his own likeness moaning and begging on the television screen. Thought about the things he might do to Gus for a change and the image made him smile. _It’s so easy to turn you on._ Jesse wanted to feel good for a while, it no longer mattered how it happened.

 

                Gus must have sensed it. He leaned in closer, running a hand up his torso as he spoke with his mouth pressed to Jesse’s ear. “I think we should go back upstairs. The men would like to talk to you some more.” _Changes come, but I can’t follow._

 

                Jesse inhaled deeply with his eyes shut tight, still feeling lightheaded. When he opened them again, he smiled at the girl in front of him. The music was switching to something a little more up-tempo but he slowed to a mellow sway. “Hey, I think I need a drink,” he yelled to her. “Do you want to come up to our table?”

 

                She eyed Gus behind him and then grabbed his hand, saying nothing. She started to pull him off the dance floor, and Gus followed them, his hand pressed to Jesse’s back. When they got to the edge, she pulled them both towards a column. Cassie turned to Gus with a loopy grin.

 

                “Thank you,” she shouted, grabbing his bicep as if he’d just thrown her a surprise party. She nodded her head in Jesse’s direction. “I really, _really_ appreciated that,” she giggled as she smacked a hand to Jesse’s chest, let it trail down to his stomach. “Can I give him my number?”

 

                The dreamy feeling faded from Jesse and he narrowed his eyes at the girl, his jaw tightening. “Why you asking him?” he snapped, but Gus stayed a hand to Jesse, motioning for silence.

 

                “I’m just going to put this out there,” she continued, leaning closer to them both while the music seemed to rise in volume and intensity. Jesse could taste the alcohol on her breath and wished for another shot of tequila. “But if you ever want a third party, even if it’s just to watch, I’d love to offer my services.” Cassie’s laugh was gusty and rich while Gus’s smile was classically cool, distant.

 

                “I don’t think that will be likely to happen,” he explained curtly. “Excuse me, but we have a party waiting for us.” He took Jesse’s hand without even looking at him and started to pull him along, back to the stairs leading to their section. For a second, Jesse wanted to dig in his heels, stomp his feet. He could fuck whomever he wanted, and in that particular moment he wanted to be inundated with fucking. But then Andrea’s words came back to him and he let himself be carted away. Gus clutched his hand with his arm twisted behind him, all the way up the stairs and across the narrow bridge, until they were near the red curtains that led to the VIP section. He pulled Jesse to stand in front of him, put both hands to his face and brought him in for a deep kiss. Jesse froze up at first, then brought his own hands over Gus’s, tried to peel them away as the kiss went on. He knew that people could see them and he panicked, wondering just what the hell had gotten into Gus for the man to be so amorous out in the open. As soon as Gus eased up, Jesse pulled away.

 

                “What was that for?” he asked.

 

                “A reminder,” Gus answered contentedly.

 

                “A reminder of what?”

 

                “Of what’s to come,” he said, his voice deepening. “We will get out of here soon, I promise. They just want to have a little more time with you. Another half hour, and then we’ll go home.”

 

                Jesse thought about what the remainder of the evening would likely entail. At least he wasn’t going to get passed around by a bunch of old perverts. But Gus had been acting weird, and Jesse’s imagination was running rampant. _Baby, listen to me, you have more power than you think._ Andrea’s words gave him some focus again. Gus put a hand to Jesse’s waist and made him start the walk to their table, but Jesse stopped and turned back, hooking Gus’s neck as he pressed his mouth to plush lips. When he broke the kiss he stared into the deep brown and black of Gus’s eyes. “Okay, Gustavo. Whatever you want.”

 

 

******

 

 

                It was silent in the car through most of the drive home. Gus kept a watch on the young man next to him, intrigued by his sudden change in temperament. He’d been waiting for Jesse to vent his complaints ever since they left the club, but the boy had gone immediately quiet and reflective, his expression inscrutable. The show that he’d put on for the men’s benefit, however, had sparked something in Gus. The last few days of wanting the boy had left its toll and now Gus’s patience had fled in the face of his rapaciousness. He had to keep easing his foot off the gas pedal in a concerted effort to stay the speed limit. He stole a glance to Jesse again, for perhaps the twelfth time since the drive had begun.

 

                “So … the meeting went well. This is an excellent deal for us, and I also gained some information that I needed. I want to thank you for your help in obtaining their trust. Our business associates … they greatly enjoyed your company. And you were very charming.”

 

                “Right on.” There was another quiet beat before Jesse finally turned to meet Gus’s stare. “Hey, how come you never told me you could dance like that?” he said with an air of admiration. “You can really move for an old guy.”

 

                Gus glanced at the road again, only mildly offended. “I suppose I should take that as a compliment.”

 

                “Yeah, you should,” Jesse insisted, flashing Gus a disarming grin. “Although, maybe you could have warned me you were gonna fly your gay pride flag. That was a little … unexpected. But then, you could have given me a heads up on the whole fem fatal bit, too.”

 

                Gus tried to muzzle his amusement. “ _Femme fatale,”_ he corrected.

 

                “Well, whatever, alls you had to say was that I was playing honeypot for these dudes and you would have avoided the whole me-freaking-out situation.”

 

                “I had not anticipated your assumption that I was offering you as a benefit. I apologize for not making that clear.” With eyes straight ahead, Gus paused for a beat, feeling hesitant. “I … there was no flag. Two men dancing together should not have to be a political statement, nor any kind of … admission. In my country, men dance with each other all the time.”

 

                Jesse cackled drily. “Yeah, totally. That was just some straight-up hetero dancing, right? Me and my boys always grind on each other like that.”

 

                He chose not to comment. It had been impulsive of him, going down to the dance floor. But watching Jesse moving his body with someone else – he’d had a sudden compulsion to stake his property. Jesse shifted in his seat so that his entire frame faced Gus. “It’s okay, though. I get it. You wanted to let that girl know I was yours. I can dig. I know what that feels like, getting all territorial.” Jesse smirked at him with another dry laugh, low and mesmerizing. “Still … it was pretty hot. I wasn’t expecting that.”

 

                Gus sat stiffly, maintaining his composure. His voice deepened. “Did you want to go home with her?” he asked, hearing his accent thicken, as it tended to do when he was emotional. He was deeply curious on where the discussion was heading.

 

                It was quiet again, and Gus turned to see the boy’s expression. The way Jesse was staring back at him caught him off guard. “Nope. I’m going home with _you,_ ” he said with a heavy portent. That single eyebrow arched for emphasis like a perfectly toppled apostrophe. There was something seductive in his attitude, perhaps a holdover as the evening’s entertainment, and when he smiled there was nothing innocent in it. Jesse slid over in his bucket seat to get closer, but was stopped by the gearshift’s console. “Besides, I already know there ain’t no way she can make me come like you do.” Gus forgot to watch the road as he locked eyes with the boy. “I don’t think anyone can,” Jesse said with a note of awe in his voice, brushing fingertips over Gus’s shoulder then running them down an arm. Gus jerked eyes back to the street, gripping the wheel.

 

                “You did not seem too interested the other day,” he said.

 

                “I wouldn’t say that,” Jesse responded. “I was just trying to stay focused. Get through your little orientation and all. But … didn’t mean I wasn’t thinking about it … a lot.”

 

                “ _What_ were you thinking?”

 

                “Um, about what you did to me last time … mostly,” Jesse said, turning sheepish. “How amazing that felt. And other stuff, too. Stuff I didn’t think I’d like, _buuut_ … I don’t know. I think I’m changing my mind.” The boy’s husky promise had Gus on high alert. He was thrilled to have an opportunity to engage with Jesse on the nature of the boy’s proclivities, but he was equally suspect of the impetus.

 

                “And what, specifically, are you reconsidering?”

 

                Jesse dropped his eyes to the Volvo’s cushioned seat. “Uhh, well …” He shook his head, appearing surprised. “You know … how it feels when you fill my ass, I guess. I keep going back to that. Especially when you had me in your bed and – shit, this is embarrassing.” His demeanor turned awkward, his leg bobbing as he opened the glove compartment to grab his cigarettes.

 

                Gus spun the steering wheel smoothly as they turned into the main road leading to his neighborhood. “Don’t be. It is just the two of us. I want to hear what you liked.”

 

                “ _Uhh_ ,” Jesse started again, adding a nervous laugh as he tucked a cigarette in his mouth. “Okay, I guess I’ll be blunt then.” There was a pause and Gus looked back at him, caught Jesse studying him with deep intensity. “The way you fuck me,” he finished in all of his throaty glory. “I mean, you start pounding me, and … like, yo, I didn’t think guys could feel like that, you know what I mean? It’s scary, but … I keep imagining you doing it again.” He paused with a swallow, a tongue wetting his bottom lip, but his eyes still locked on Gus. “I like the way you touch me.”

 

                “I see,” Gus said, searching impatiently for the corner to his street. “You seemed very upset by the thought of those men paying for you,” he noted, his jealousy rising again at the idea of anyone else touching the boy.

 

                “Yeah, well, I’m not about that. I’m not interested in being some fucktoy for a bunch of old queers. I just … I like the connection _we_ have. You and me. It’s like you understand me. Like you said before, you know what I want before I do. I mean, I didn’t have any idea.”

 

                They were on Jefferson finally, with only a few more blocks to go. “I like to think that we have both learned many things about each other, Jesse. I feel quite close to you,” he said truthfully. He shot another glance to Jesse, the boy’s eyes glittering under the streetlights. “I like to touch you, as well. Very much.” Light flooded the car, headlight beams spanning over the window as another car passed them. “You realize, of course, that those men are all married. All of them, even Ramón, have wives and children. They do not think of themselves the way that you do.”

 

                “I don’t care who they fuck, I don’t trust them,” Jesse said. “I wouldn’t feel safe with any of them. Not like with you.”

 

                “You feel safe with _me_?” Gus couldn’t quell the incredulity in his voice.

 

                Jesse seemed shocked by what he’d just said, tried to backpedal the sentiment. “Uh, well … I mean, not that you aren’t a ruthless motherfucker, Gus, but … it’s … I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”

 

                “Give it a try,” Gus urged.

 

                “It’s like,” and the boy paused as he took a drag from his cigarette. Something seemed to relax in him as he blew out the smoke from the side of his mouth; Gus pushed a lever so that Jesse’s window slid down a crack, the motorized hum drawing the boy’s attention. He opened his hands in defeat as he attempted an explanation. “There’s no denying you’re a total badass, okay? Hell, Gus, you’re goddamned King Kong. Those guys knew it, Eladio realized it too late. But … I get it. And anybody who’s got any brains isn’t about to fuck with you.” He turned his gaze on Gus, his expression serious. “Forget the past. Right now, if someone is under Gus Fring’s protection, they’re not gonna get hurt, end of story. No one will touch them. _No one.”_ Gus made it to his driveway and pulled into it, the garage door already hoisting up on its track. “And I know that if … you don’t want anyone messing with _me_ , then I don’t have anything to worry about. You know, I’m in good hands,” Jesse finished in a husky lure.

 

                Gus stopped the car, turned in his seat to fully take in Jesse’s compelling stare. “And the things we do. The … struggles I put you through. You are suddenly okay with this?”

 

                “I wouldn’t go that far,” the boy answered. “But I guess I’m … getting used to it? Maybe? It’s – I mean, some of it is really hard to deal with, I won’t lie. But at the same time, I know … I _know_ that you’re doing it to make me better. Stronger, like you said. The fact that I can even handle  _any_ of it; that really surprised me, I’ll admit. I mean, last weekend, holy shit. And now you got me commandeering your crews at your business, and, like, that blows me away. I never thought I could do that.”

 

                It felt like mini explosions were setting off in Gus’s chest. He swallowed to quench his dry mouth, hearing himself breathing heavier. Gus tried to keep calm, feeling stunned by Jesse’s admissions and only just realizing how much he’d been waiting to hear them. He felt the long stretch of loneliness that lay behind him like a dilapidated bridge fall away from its mooring.

 

                “It’s like … I’m starting to figure it out,” the boy said.

 

                “Figure out what?”

 

                Jesse scooted closer to him still, over the console, until he was practically in Gus’s lap. He slid a hand behind Gus’s neck, ran a light touch in slow circles on his skin. Gus was pinned by the brilliant blue of that penetrating gaze.

 

                “If it’s easy, it doesn’t mean anything.” The boy leaned over and pressed wet lips to Gus’s own and when he pulled back he smiled sweetly. “You make me work for it. Like,” he chuckled and the sound was smoke-filled and sexy. “You _really_ make me work for it. But I like the way you push me. And I …” He stopped, seemed to flounder with the remainder.

 

                “What?” Gus asked, dying to hear more.

 

                Jesse closed his eyes, opened his mouth to speak as if he were about to share his darkest secrets. “I really dig the way you … _reward me._ ” Gus felt Jesse grab his hand and drag it down to where his legs fell open. He pressed Gus’s palm to the hard bulge there, hot and insistent.

 

                Gus didn’t hesitate but gripped the back of the boy’s head and devoured his mouth, another hand cupping Jesse’s arousal. Gus had the boy’s zipper down the next moment and went on to wrestle one-handed with the belt buckle. Jesse opened his mouth to him and Gus moaned as their tongues met. He could take the boy over and over till the sun rose, and his desire would still not be spent.

 

                “Wait, we should do this inside,” Jesse murmured as he helped Gus unbuckle him. Realizing that he hadn’t even shut the garage door yet, Gus quickly pressed the button on his visor. As it trundled down, he opened his car door, tugging Jesse out after him on the driver’s side. As soon as the boy was standing, Gus had him up against the car, his hands already molded to the boy’s ass as he squeezed it in fistfuls, thrusting all the while into Jesse’s crotch. He couldn’t bear not having his fingers running over smooth flesh, and he dropped his mouth to the boy’s neck, his tongue working frantically, hands moving to slide into Jesse’s pants.

 

                “Come on, let’s do this in the house,” Jesse breathed as he rocked into him. “You don’t want to fuck me on this old-man-car.”

 

                He couldn’t even formulate a retort. Pulling the boy by his wrists, he started to walk backwards, pivoting as they neared the door leading into the house. Gus jammed his fist into his coat pocket to retrieve his key, tried to fit it into the lock but his hand shook and they dropped to the floor. He picked them up in a hurry, tried again as Jesse covered his hand with his own, aiding him to get the key into the doorknob. Gus felt a momentary stab of irritation. But it passed as soon as the door opened and Jesse was stepping inside, turning to grab Gus by the lapels. He kissed him again and it was hungry and needy and everything that Gus had seen emanating from the boy since that night in the lab. His coat was ripped open and dragged off his shoulders and Gus let it drop to the floor, not caring that it was his favorite and that he had just had it dry-cleaned. Both he and Jesse attacked his tie, Gus pulling the knot loose while Jesse popped the buttons free at his neck, the two of them still walking in jerky fits and starts towards the direction of the living room, but barely noticing their surroundings. On the way through the dining room archway, Jesse slammed his hip into the wall, but he simply kept moving backwards, a grunt into Gus’s mouth to signify he’d felt anything.

 

                By the time Gus had steered Jesse to the sofa, his shirt had been discarded back in the hall and Jesse was pulling up his undershirt out of his pants, tugging hard until Gus raised his arms and they could slip it over his head together. It was quickly tossed to the floor and Gus pushed the boy into the couch’s back, Jesse bouncing back to grip his jaw, hands framing Gus’s face as Jesse locked their mouths together once again. Jesse was bare-chested, his pants hanging off his hips and his shoes kicked off somewhere behind them, but when Gus went to push the pants lower Jesse suddenly grabbed for his wrists.

 

                “Nah, wait. Let me do that,” he said, sounding desperate. Jesse stepped away from him, moved around to the side of the sofa in front of the fireplace and stripped off the rest of his clothes, dropping each piece onto the wingback chair in a rush. He stood naked, his cock fully erect, the gold shining at his neck like fire and his eyes lit up. “Come here,” he practically growled. Gus covered the few steps to get to him and took hold of his waist, pressing their bodies to each other so that he could grip that erection with a firm hand, but once again Jesse moved away, rounding the sofa further, his eyes big and glassy as though he was goading Gus into action. Gus stepped to him and then Jesse was dropping to his knees, sat with his arms raised as he nervously began to peel back the end of Gus’s belt through its buckle. Gus stilled, watched as the boy managed to get the belt and his pants opened then started to shuck them down his legs. Jesse paused as he was preparing to bring down Gus’s boxer briefs and Gus could see his hands quivering over them. Then he took a deep breath and slid them to the floor.

 

                Gus watched with interest as his stiffened cock bounced free from its trappings and Jesse’s eyes widened, staring up at Gus with a fleeting apprehension. But in the very next second, Jesse was holding on to Gus’s hips, mouth wreathed around the head of his prick with startling conviction. It was beautiful. The boy tilted back, eyes staring up as he licked down the length of him. Gus was afraid to move, feeling like he was standing in a forest trying not to startle a foraging deer. Jesse closed his eyes and slowly stretched his mouth over the rest of the cock, then held it there for a moment or two, his body tense as the erection swelled between his lips, and soon Gus could feel the boy’s tongue work around him. The boy reached for his hands suddenly, and Gus was surprised when they were coaxed to the top of Jesse’s head. The sheer thrill of that gesture left Gus so hard it was like turning back the clock, memories of his younger days reigniting his body. He slid fingers through Jesse’s sandy hair, now long enough that he could grab fistfuls of it, and began to move the boy’s head in time with his thrusts. Jesse moaned around him and it was glorious and triumphant; he felt that moan travel through his balls and up into his spine, and when a second one came, he answered it. Back and forth his arms worked while he cradled the boy’s skull, reciprocating Jesse’s mouth on his engorged thickness like he was scrubbing laundry on a washboard. After a minute, Jesse shot a hand up to bang at Gus’s thigh and he eased up, let the boy breath in great gustfuls before he arranged him back on his prick. What the boy lacked in finesse he made up for in determination, working continuously to open his throat as Gus pressed deeper. But after a particularly rough interruption of the boy hacking up sputum, he stopped Jesse from another attempt, grabbing a thick hank of his hair to pull him off while caressing the contours of the boy’s jaw.

 

                “It is okay to spend some time at the tip,” he advised encouragingly. “I know that what I wanted last weekend was severe, but take your time. Use more of your tongue, I liked that. Be playful. I want to see you enjoy it.”

 

                Jesse froze for a second. When he looked up at Gus, he seemed bewildered. “You want me to … _enjoy_ it?”

 

                “ _Yes_ ,” he hissed in a whisper. “Show me what you like.”

 

                “I – I don’t know,” he answered. “I’m not – like, this is all new to me.”

 

                “What do you prefer when it is you that is receiving?” Gus clarified. “This is what I mean. Show me what you like to be done to you.”

 

                Jesse appeared to digest the information with some seriousness, for when he took Gus in hand again, he had a more thoughtful approach, beginning with succulent kisses all over the head. Jesse moved slower this time, his lips like leeches stuck fast to Gus’s skin, and when he arrived at the root he kept going, wedging a hand into closed thighs so that Gus would spread them. Jesse moved his body into the patch of space between Gus’s legs and tilted his head back to lathe a tongue all over the descending scrotum. It was unexpected and lovely, Gus giving Jesse more access as the boy started to get into it. Meanwhile, Jesse continued to jerk Gus’s cock and when he managed to engulf a testicle into his mouth, Gus was rewarded with a long, muffled moan. But Gus wanted more.

 

                “Wait, step back,” he said, ushering the boy to sit on the back of his heels.

 

                “Did I do something wrong?” Jesse looked crestfallen. “Was it bad?”

 

                “Not at all,” Gus reassured, sounding winded. “But I want to share my good fortune.”

 

                “What?”

 

                “Just stand up,” Gus said. “Get on the sofa.” Jesse started to climb onto the couch on his hands and knees, but Gus rested a hand on the boy’s ass. “No, wait for me, first.” He dropped the small pillows to the floor as he helped Jesse get up, before lying down on his back, still eager and impatient. He patted the top of his chest, at the collarbone. “Turn around. Feet up here.”

 

                Jesse gaped at him for a moment, his mouth slack. With a decisive nod, his consternation eroded before he got on top of Gus, held on to the knobs of Gus’s knees as he carefully drew up a leg to the sofa’s back then positioned his lower half over Gus’s face. Gus grabbed the boy’s ankle and guided it to lay by his ear, ensnaring the other leg by the back of the shin and situating Jesse where he wanted him. The boy’s cock hung down like a pendulum, stiff and pink, the silver bars a lovely ladder to his balls retracted into a single mound. Gus licked the sweet harbinger of come at the boy’s slit, ran his tongue up the shaft, over testicles, and then brought the boy’s ass lower so that he could feast on the hole that was already palpitating with want. He buried his tongue into Jesse as he dragged fingers down the furrow of the boy’s spine and Jesse moaned so wantonly that Gus had to thrust his body up off of the couch, holding Jesse’s neck in his fervor to push him down. A mouth enveloped his leaking prick and Gus felt his breath leave him, growled into the boy as he nibbled on flesh, sucking the boy’s asshole until the wet, smacking sounds were all that could be heard.

 

                At some point, Jesse lifted his head and Gus felt the moistened air on his cock as the boy grabbed at his balls. “ _Ohhhhgod,”_ the boy groaned, shifting a foot to the coffee table so that his legs were spread wider. The moment Jesse went back to blowing him Gus pushed the boy’s ass up in the air, captured the heavy organ into his mouth and began sucking him off in time with his partner’s movements. His tongue ran over the barbells piercing the hardness, the metallic tang in his mouth making everything sweeter. Slick fingers disappeared into the boy’s dampened orifice, one on either side as Gus pried the hole wider. He had been waiting for days to fuck the boy, but now he wanted to play with him.

 

                “Aw, fuck; oh my God,” Jesse reiterated with another deep groan, taking a break from sucking while he continued to manipulate the dick before him. “That feels so good.” Gus felt him bear down as he drilled fingers in and out of his ass. He pushed a thumb into the mix, alternating between them, then stuffing several in at once. He fingered and tugged the silver ring on the perineum, delighting in the way Jesse's body would jolt. The boy cried out while his mouth was filled with cock and Gus spared a hand to return pressure on the back of Jesse’s neck, cutting off his range of motion. He lifted his bottom again, thrusting into the boy’s face as he gobbled him up simultaneously.

 

                Minutes went by, but Gus was lost in a dream, until Jesse started to fight the weight at his neck. Gus let up and Jesse jerked his head back with a loud gasp. “ _Gus …_ please. I need you to fuck me,” he begged in hoarse breaths. Gus smacked the boy’s thigh, released the throbbing spear in his throat. “Get up,” he coaxed, rounding hands over Jesse’s bottom to move him higher. The boy dithered for a moment, unsure of where Gus was directing him.

 

                “What? Where do I –?”

 

                “Sit on my face,” Gus hissed, the sense memory of his taste already flooding him. Jesse shifted again, his movements ungainly as he tried to bend into Gus’s persistent nudges and shoves. Finally, the boy had erected his body over Gus’s mouth and chin, a hand clamped to the back of the couch as he knelt, legs on either side of Gus and the tops of his feet hooked over the armrest. Gus guided him down until his tongue was dividing that bottom, squirreling its way into the slick, gaping wound. He curled a fist around Jesse’s prick as he slurped pink flesh, moving his hand in slow, rhythmic strokes to the sound of the boy’s rising hosannas.

 

                “ _Jesus …._ God! Holy fuck. Do it. Yeah, deeper, _oh my God_.” Jesse circled his hips, rotating on Gus’s tongue with a deliberate, steady pace. It was driving Gus mad. A section of him wanted to tease out the delicious anticipation, but the most engorged part desired to split the boy open. His arousal was a gargantuan beast, however; thoughts of taking the boy all night stayed with him, his need never ending. He suddenly lifted Jesse’s thighs, as if they were dumbbells, and Jesse fell over, putting his hands out in a panic.

 

                “Whoa, what are you doing?”

 

                “Turn around,” Gus said as he stirred to sit up, pushing the boy off his lap. He sat with his back against the armrest, reached down to tuck one of the small pillows behind him. “Look at me,” Gus breathed.

 

                Jesse turned around and his face was the perfect expression of everything that Gus felt. Lips swollen, hair tousled, skin flushed, the young man’s eyes heavy lidded as he gazed upon Gus with a blend of wonder and steeliness. “Do you want me?” he croaked.

 

                “More than anything,” Gus enthused, dragging Jesse's head down so he could further debauch those lips.

 

                “Wait,” Jesse huffed as he pulled himself away, drooping his face over Gus’s cock. There was the hawking sound of spit, and Gus felt it land on the exposed glans. Then Jesse was arranging himself over Gus’s erection, one leg arched to the coffee table, and the boy’s eyes closed as he pressed Gus to the hollow of his ass. The head breached him and Jesse’s eyes flew open, stared into Gus as he lowered himself down. His moan elongated with the descent.

 

                “Like this?” he whispered demurely when he was filled, leaning back, hands pressed behind him as he bore down, taking all that Gus had. Gus was overwhelmed by gratitude for a time-stopping second, understanding the gravity and significance of what Jesse was giving him. But then he grabbed the boy with a craven worshipfulness.

 

                “ _Yes! Dios mio,_ you are perfect. _Mi estrella._ ” Gus yanked Jesse’s mouth to his once more, and his kiss was needy and full of an aching desperation. Passion assailed him until it threatened to unhinge him completely, and he brought Jesse down on his cock again and again, his climax already drawing near. He had to slow down, wanted to wring every little fraction of enjoyment from this moment. Gus was moving again, hoisting one of his boy’s legs up high. “Quick, turn around. I want to take you from behind.”

 

                Jesse couldn’t move fast enough, and soon Gus was lifting him up like a doll, spinning the boy to land with knees pressed into the couch cushions while his cock was still partially inside him. As soon as he was adjusted behind Jesse, their legs overlapping, he was driving into him with unabashed urgency. Jesse arched his back with a grunt of pain.

 

                “Christ, slow down, Gus.” And Gus complied, taking hold of Jesse’s waist with a talon grip, inhaling deep breaths as the two of them achieved a languid rhythm for a time. Jesse’s moans punched the air with every thrust into him, and they were lilting, melodious, and full of so much feeling that Gus wrapped himself around Jesse, held him as tight as he could, dreading the future when they would be apart. The change in him had arrived, formed and futile, an epiphany rocking through him along with his lover’s song. Jesse was truly his, and this notion, this wonderful reality, hit his heart so forcefully he felt ready to weep, and he buried his face into the skull at Jesse’s back, the shudder of the boy’s vocal chords reverberating into his fevered brain. His heart and his prick were as one, swollen and heavy and beating to the one in his arms. It had been too long. He’d been deprived of this too long. He was a man, not a monster. One who was desperate to feel.

 

                When Gus finally came, there wasn’t that sense of depletion that accompanied his ejaculation, but instead, one of rejuvenation, filling the youth beneath him with seed that promised to bloom into a giant oak, something fertile and alive and encompassing. His joyful groan was met with a sated sigh. Gus wanted to shower his lover with affection and appreciation, wanted to mark every inch of him as the night went on, and he pushed Jesse down to split his legs wider as he descended on him. A milky pearl rested in the puckered entry and Gus licked it up, delved for more with jabbing spears of his tongue. Jesse begged for his release, and eventually Gus propped him up on his knees again, worked the boy’s cock while he continued to draw such nourishment from him. The moans increased with rapidity, and when Jesse’s orgasm was upon them, Gus grabbed a leg and flipped the boy over, sucking up every drop as he nursed on Jesse with thunder in his ears.

 

                Jesse made noises that filled Gus with pride, crying out filthy ravings and breathy exultation. He lay down and pressed himself to the boy's back, with his arms curled around Jesse like metal bands. Gus coughed as he drew ragged breaths along Jesse’s shoulder, but he was content and dazedly happy. After a moment or two, his breathing leveled out to match his young partner’s, their chests heaving simultaneously and their heartbeats synchronized. He pulled Jesse back, kissed him with a beseeching tongue. Jesse reared his head back as far as the cushions would allow, a flash of disgust playing over his face before it went blank. Gus froze.

 

                “Are you alright?” he asked with some concern.

 

                Jesse’s eyes widened before looking away. “Uh, yeah. Fine. I’m just, you know, not used to that.”

 

                “Not used to what?” Gus was confused. The blowjob had been an admirable effort.

 

                “Um.” He smiled at Gus with a shyness that softened him, made him seem younger. Jesse tilted his head to Gus, whispering as if to avoid being heard. “I’ve never had someone kiss me after they just sucked come out of my ass. It’s a bit –" he laughed in amazement. "I might need a moment, is all.”

 

                “You find it vulgar?” Gus teased as he smiled back. “I did not take you for a prude. Are you telling me that you do not explore such things with a woman?” He’d seen enough on the video feeds to know that Jesse was not terribly worried about where his mouth ended up when he was with the girl.

 

                “Yeah, but … women are different. Guys are hairy and sweaty and gross. That’s just, like, our natural state of being.”

 

                Gus smacked a kiss to his chest, right in the middle of the dragon’s body. “There is nothing gross about you, I assure you.” He rubbed a hand down the boy’s torso, kissed him again above his belly. “You taste wonderful.”

 

                Jesse turned away again, then shifted to his side and plastered himself to Gus, the nape of his neck tucked close to Gus’s mouth. He kissed him there and Jesse reached back to bring Gus’s arm over his waist. Gus pulled him even closer, imagined spending hours with Jesse just like this.

 

                “So … who was that guy you were fishing for information about? When we were talking to your boys? Sounded like you were trying to get a meeting.”

 

                “I need a new ally,” Gus said simply, wishing to bask in the afterglow with minimal conversation. He was done with business for the night.

 

                “An ally for what? Do you think we may have problems with other cartels in Mexico? Like, maybe another Don coming after you or something?”

 

                “Why do you need to know this now?”

 

                The boy was thoughtful for a brief moment. “I don’t,” he said finally. “We can talk about it later. I was just curious to know more about the deal. You didn’t really give me all the details. But I’m just wondering … what else you might want me involved in.”

 

                “I have many things planned for you,” he said mysteriously.

 

                “Like what?”

 

                “The first thing? I want to take you up to my bed and do this again. Perhaps with a few accoutrements.”

 

                Jesse fell back, turned his body again so that he faced Gus, and his expression was as grave as Gus had ever seen him. “You … you really want me, don’t you? I mean, this isn’t just … it’s not a game for you anymore. Is it?”

 

                Gus stroked his cheek, bent down to kiss the edge of his jaw. “It has never been a game, Jesse.”

 

 

 


	31. The Play

 

_I’m sure if you keep digging you’ll find me._

 

                When Jesse awoke, he immediately knew where he was. He felt the clutch of Gus’s embrace from behind him, hands wrapped around his chest and stomach as if he were a stuffed bear in a child’s slumbering grip. Watching the incremental swell of light behind the window blinds, he contemplated what he should be doing next. He was still tired, his body exhausted and feeling the pains of Gus’s enthusiasm. The guy had to be taking something to keep his erection going the way it had all night. Yet, Jesse counted the evening as a success. There had been no kinky business – no chains or ropes, no hanging, not even a spanking – just a lot of rigorous fucking, and Jesse had been alright with playing up the pleasures his body was receiving. He made sure to moan like a dick-starved ho for most of it. At a certain point, he’d started to visualize Andrea’s mouth, the way she’d writhe and cry out underneath him when they had sex, realized that he’d begun to mimic her intonations. She was always vocally generous with her responses, which turned him on, and he felt himself slipping into her sexual persona, feeling connected to her from across miles of neighborhood as his wails grew more eager and authentic. Gus did everything to him and Jesse let himself get off to every second of it.

 

                The morning after was a little more sobering in the hushed room, not even a clock ticking to count down the time remaining. He had all of Saturday to get through, needed to figure out how he was going to get Mr. White some more information. They had to be able to use something. Jesse thought about the men’s comments throughout the evening, the implication that Gus was looking for protection. Someone out there was still gunning for him; Jesse just needed to find out whom.

 

                Gus stirred, breathed long and heavy across Jesse’s back, making the hairs stand up along his neck and arms. Jesse was gripped tighter for a moment. Fingers dug into him like Gus was trying to puncture his flesh, but then they relaxed, the backs of knuckles rubbing over his belly, a stiffened prick molded to the cut of his ass. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for another round of energetic sex, clearing his throat as he wondered if he should go down on Gus again. It was a lot easier when Gus was sucking him off, too, in a sixty-nine position; like a mutual handjob there was something almost fraternal about it. The thought made him want to laugh, but he stifled it behind pressed lips, hoping for another few minutes of solitude before he’d have to humor whatever mood Gus woke up with.

 

                “Good morning.” A kiss pressed to the back of his neck, and Jesse grit his teeth together through creased eyes, the chilled steel in his nipples making them wrinkle as they hardened into points. A hand swept over his dick. Christ, it didn’t take much. Gus rolled him to his back, a mouth already seeking out the closest nipple and latching on, fingers sliding under his balls looking for an entrance. Jesse instinctively opened his legs, his breathing turning rapid. Yeah, he was ready for more. Gus bit him softly, but Jesse arched into it, a moan let loose.

 

                “I want you,” Gus answered breathlessly, before rising up and slamming his mouth to Jesse’s. Gus’s cock was swollen and pressed to his own, their blood pumping together under thin membranes, and Jesse wasn’t sure how he came to be here, how he came to be so comfortable with this, but he wrapped his legs around the backs of Gus’s thighs, thrusting upward as he sucked on Gus’s tongue.

 

                “ _Jesus,_ you’re unbelievable,” he said as soon as he could pull his mouth away. “What’s your secret, man? You taking some kind of super-dose of vitamins, or something? How can you be so ready to go, all the time?”

 

                Gus beamed at him, and for a moment it was jarring, the smile creeping Jesse out before Gus moved his head down to nibble on his neck, hands scooping under the slope of his back. “You do this to me,” Gus murmured dreamily into the pulse at this throat. They dry humped each other, Jesse no longer caring, letting his arousal take over as Gus’s face was plastered to his chest. There was a low, hungering moan vibrating his skin and something seized in Jesse, a shot of testosterone spiking his balls. Without thinking, he cuffed Gus’s biceps and flipped them both over, wrestling the legs underneath him to lay flat as Jesse climbed on top. He semi-straddled Gus and then took hold of his wrists before the man could blink, slinging them backwards until he could pin them down to the pillows above Gus’s head. He grinned down at him, victorious.

 

                “Hey, maybe I want to be on top this time,” he snarled. “See what you can take.” He bent his head to kiss him, but in an instant, Gus was thrashing underneath him, banging up a knee dangerously close to his junk. Jesse reared back in alarm. “Hey!” he shouted, but Gus was pushing him off, throwing him to the mattress as he lashed out a hand to slap Jesse across the face. “What the hell, Gus!”

 

                Gus sat up and disentangled himself from Jesse’s limbs, his chest heaving with strained breaths, a wildness in his eyes. Jesse put up his hands in defense, his cheek burning with a rhythmic tempo. “Calm down! I ain’t gonna do anything. Fuck.”

 

                It took another few seconds for Gus to compose himself, as he backed into the cushioned nest of the pillows pressed against the headboard. He pulled up a sheet to cover himself, the act of modesty strangely comical, like he was some virginal bride on his wedding night. He reached over to the nightstand on his side to get his glasses, wrapped the frames’ wiry hooks behind his ears.

 

                “I apologize,” he finally said. “I was –” he cleared his throat. “I was not expecting that … show of aggression. I am … I don’t like that.”

 

                Jesse narrowed eyes at him. “So, what? You telling me you ain’t ever, like, _received?_ I thought you said you played fuckboy for your old Colonel, or whatever. And hey, that wasn’t even a little bit _aggressive._ I was just playin’, yo.”

 

                Gus stared to the side, his expression still. “Mamo? I didn’t –” He turned to Jesse, letting a faint, sheepish smile touch his lips. “It was not quite like that. We were lovers briefly, yes, but Contreras was a fat pig. He preferred – how to say this … he liked to have the young men _pray to his altar,_ as it were,” Gus explained, with his hands outstretched over his lap. “I had to get very adept at it, to speed along the process.”

 

                “Okay, whatever. Why’d you have to freak out, though? You _hit_ me.”

 

                “I said I was sorry,” Gus snapped. “Let us move on.”

 

                “Fine,” he said softly, trying to appease Gus and get him in a better state. “Hey, we going for a run today? I could use a good stretch.” He looked towards the window. “It’s still nice and early, no one’s up yet. Let’s hit the pavement. You can do your yoga moves while I get changed.”

 

                Gus seemed to like the idea and gave him another small smile. They got up from the bed and went off to get suited up.

 

* * *

 

 

                By the time they got back to the house, Jesse was feeling more in control, fully energized and ready for whatever Gus threw his way. As they slowed down across the lawn on the way to the front door, Gus gave him a broad grin.

 

                “Very good. You are getting much better, your endurance is improving.” He let out a heavy gust of air as they stopped in front of the dark charcoal door surrounded by its white trim, then rooted around in the pocket of his track pants for the keys.

 

                “Yeah, I been doing some running on my own, after work,” Jesse admitted. Gus shot him a pleased glance. “Don’t go getting all proud of yourself, there, Coach Taylor. I was planning on getting some exercise anyway,” he insisted.

 

                “Well, that is good news. I like seeing you get stronger, more physical.” Jesse followed him into the house and shut the door as Gus tossed his keys to the bureau under the mirror.

 

                “Yeah, I bet you do,” Jesse smirked. He hooked his fingers under the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, dropping it to the ground. “You wanna get more physical before breakfast?” Gus turned to look behind him, shifted his gaze from Jesse’s stomach to the rumpled tee-shirt on the ground. Jesse was just about to bend over to pick it up when Gus spoke with a deep voice full of yearning.

 

                “Take off the rest.”

 

                Upon toeing off his sneakers, Jesse quickly dropped his shorts to the floor, slipping the jock strap down his legs and to his ankles before kicking them away with his pile of clothes. He left his girlie socks on, brought his hands up behind his neck to stretch out his torso like he was posing for a skin magazine. “What do you want me to do next?” he asked, his own voice low and raspy, heart still knocking around in his chest from the run.

 

                Gus thought for a moment before pointing to the dining room. “Go in there.”

 

                Walking past the tastefully boring art and the cubbyhole into the kitchen, Jesse scanned the room that he’d only strayed in and out of before, noticing some children’s toy cars in a corner. “Looks like you didn’t get all your props collected after Walter’s visit,” he commented. He turned to Gus with a shrug. “Ain’t you been having any other guests over but me? I thought you were the business community’s social butterfly, and all.”

 

                “I usually get invited out,” Gus replied seriously, his eyes scraping over Jesse’s body. He stretched a hand to the table, the rich mahogany finish gleaming under the lights. “Lay down on it. For me.”

 

                Jesse laughed. “What, you wanna do it here?” He looked around the room in amusement. “Wouldn’t it be easier to go downstairs?”

 

                Gus pulled out the chair at the head of the table and pressed fingertips to Jesse’s breastbone. “Do it. Lay back.”

 

                He did as he was told, lying upon the wood slowly as the cold surface of the table chilled his back, the delicious feeling of it traveling along his skin, making his nipples tighten again while his dick bobbed with anticipation. Jesse hiked a leg up on the seat of one of the chairs; let it fall open as Gus stared down at him, his lust etched into the hard lines of his features. It was simultaneously unnerving and thrilling, seeing the way Gus desired him so strongly. Jesse had never felt wanted quite like this, but he recognized how he could use it the more that Gus let down his guard.

 

                Gus stood before him, stone-like, commanding, and stroked the tips of his fingers down the length of Jesse, from his chest to his knees. “You will let me do whatever I wish to you,” he said with complete authority.

 

                Jesse played along. “You know I will.” He lifted up his other leg, set the arch in his foot to curl over the table’s edge.

 

                “And you will want me to do these things,” Gus continued. “You will beg for them. For the way only I can make you feel.”

 

                “What are you gonna do to me,” he purred with a throaty seductiveness. “What do you want me to do, Gustavo?”

 

                “I want you to stay like this. Don’t move.” Gus turned from him and suddenly strode from the room.

 

                He stayed in position, his foot getting pins and needles while trying to hold in place. Jesse raised his arms over his head and breathed out slowly, starting to believe optimistically that he might make it the whole day without being terrorized by Gus, that the goodwill rendered from the night before would help him negotiate the sexual hi-jinks performed on him. When he heard footsteps coming back down the stairs, he spread his legs a little wider, angled his body to look as enticing as possible. Gus walked in dressed in his bathrobe, a familiar black bracelet snaked around his wrist.

 

                “Oh, okay, then,” Jesse said. “It’s gonna be like that, huh? You want me to turn over?”

 

                “No.” Gus came closer, rearranged two of the side chairs so they were closer to the end. “Put your feet up here.” He helped Jesse stretch out a foot and hooked his ankle over the chair’s back then moved to the other side to catch the right one and do the same. Jesse moved his ass down to the edge, not waiting for Gus. He had a pretty good idea where this was going.

 

                By the time that Gus had lubed him up and started sliding in the beads, Jesse was fully hard. He stared down at the end of the table watching Gus work, now seated in the chair before him. The beads weren’t even in half-way before Gus’s tongue was roughly sliding across his balls, his nose nuzzling the center of his scrotum and breathing deeply. Jesse leaned his head back, let the sensation of the beads filling him tingle throughout his body.

 

                “Yeah, all of ‘em,” he rasped, as Gus pushed them in. Gus would probably fuck him like this, and the notion got him really hard. His cock bounced up like an eager puppy awaiting a pat on the head.

 

                Gus gripped his erection and bent it back, circling one of the barbells with his tongue. His breaths ghosted across tight flesh and Jesse whined in his throat. “You look beautiful like this,” Gus said admiringly, in a hushed voice.

 

                “What? Legs spread and hole stuffed?” Jesse joked crudely. It was better if it was dirty.

 

                “No. These,” Gus said as he licked the next rung of silver piercing Jesse’s prick. “They look elegant on you. Elevate you. They make me want to show you off,” he murmured.

 

                “What do you mean? Show me off, how?” A note of nervousness crept into his tone.

 

                “I enjoyed watching the men look at you last night, knowing how much they wanted you but couldn’t have you. Because you belong to me. But I would have let them watch you like this. Let them see the way you are with me.”

 

                Goosepimples broke out across Jesse’s arms and legs. “You would do that? I thought you said … you said that they wouldn’t touch me.”

 

                “No. No one will.” Gus suddenly devoured Jesse’s cock, slurped down to the base, his fingers playing with the end tail of the anal beads simultaneously. Jesse’s back arched off the table, his shout echoing in the sparsely decorated room. He let his knees fall back, his feet sliding off the chairs, toppling one of them. It righted itself with a thump and Gus pulled his head up, eased apart the flesh of Jesse’s ass so that wisps of his breath flittered over the pulse at his hole. Jesse moaned aloud, eager to get fucked, and the images from Gus’s video of him replayed in his head again. He imagined what it would be like as jack-off material for Gus’s business buddies and a part of him got a little kick from it. With a sudden schism, Andrea’s face popped into the line-up of men watching him, another member of the audience observing while he lay here on the table about to be fucked raw by the guy who employed him. He sat up with a start.

 

                “Wait,” he said breathlessly. Gus’s tongue was already probing into the space around the confines of the beads. He straightened up, locked eyes with Jesse.

 

                “What?”

 

                “Just –” Jesse didn’t know what he wanted, struggled for the words. “Just fuck me, alright? No foreplay right now. You wore me out last night. Let’s just get to it so we can hit the showers.”

 

                “I say what we do,” Gus said darkly. He leaned back against the chair, languid and in charge. “I am not going to fuck you just yet. But you will have your release for me.”

 

                There was the sharp prick of disappointment. “Oh. You’re gonna suck me off, then?”

 

                “I want to watch you,” Gus replied, the gleam in his eyes dancing. “You will get yourself off.”

 

                “Oh. Sure.” Jesse sucked in a breath, laid back on the table and tugged on his knees until they were almost to his ears, holding them where his legs bent. “I can touch myself, then? That’s okay?”

 

                “Do what you must, but you will ask permission before you ejaculate.”

 

                “Yeah. That sounds sexy,” Jesse deadpanned. “You should maybe consider working on your sex talk, Gustavo.”

 

                Gus gave him another one of his smug half-smiles, but was otherwise motionless. Jesse took hold of his erection and started to stroke it with a practiced pace. “Got any more of that lube?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

                It was glaringly bright in the kitchen by the time they started breakfast, the sun’s rays coming through the window in the dining nook and bouncing off the nearby appliances. Jesse was chopping vegetables with a confident speed. He was beginning to appreciate his time preparing meals with Gus. Between Gus and Andrea, Jesse had taken more of an interest in what he ate. The idea of cooking something as delicious as the food Gus created held some attraction to him. It was another step towards independence; gleaning the satisfaction of doing something for himself like an adult.

 

                He felt clear-headed after the shower with Gus. The triumphant orgasm had certainly helped, like his body had suddenly been pulled from a black and white room and rushed into color. Jacking himself off while Gus ate him out, Jesse had worried briefly that Gus might pinch off his nipples he was gripping them so tightly. His chest still throbbed dully where the piercings ran through. They’d washed up together in the en suite this time, the transition from Gus bathing him to them sharing a shower feeling somehow significant. Jesse wanted to believe that he was gaining some more ground with Gus; that they were arriving at the same level. Standing next to him as Gus drizzled more oil into the frying pan, the set-up felt oddly reminiscent of his cooks with Walter, and another bittersweet pang hit Jesse. It seemed like eons had passed since the last time he and Mr. White had done a batch together.

 

                “So … you were going to tell me more about the conversation from last night,” Jesse began tentatively, trying to sound nonchalant. He didn’t want to come across as _too_ interested. Just enough so that Gus would respect his business savvy.

               

                It was quiet for a moment, the pan sizzling as Gus filled it with slivered onions. “The other cartels – there are many who wanted Vuente out of the way. The hole that the Juárez cartel has left will be quickly filled, without any further interruptions to our business. But sooner or later, someone will want to make their presence felt. It is the way of these men.”

 

                “How long have you known that dude from last night? The guy dressed like he was guest starring in an episode of _Miami Vice?_ Ramon.” He used the edge of the knife’s long blade to slide over the chopped peppers. “You sure you trust him?”

 

                “I’ve know Ramón for over twenty years. Back before I even left for Mexico. He can appear frivolous, but he is very sharp. And knows everyone’s secrets. He’s a valuable friend to have.”

 

                Jesse stopped slicing the tomatoes. “Wait. I thought you did business with him. Didn’t he, like, help you get your drug operation off the ground? You mentioned a meeting that brought you to America, to this city, when you ran your restaurant with your boyfriend. Wasn’t that him?”

 

                “No, that wasn’t him in Mexico. That was Peter.” Gus turned to Jesse, smiling fondly. “I’m hoping I can introduce you to him, eventually.”

 

                “Who’s Peter?” Jesse was getting quickly confused, trying to keep track of all the names associated with Gus’s past.

 

                “Schuler. He’s a major investor in our lab, helped me organize the shipment schedule. But you will find out more about him later. Ramón I met back when I was still living in Chile. He was one of our buyers, and often facilitated the delivery of guns for the cocaine we sold. It was through him that I met up with operatives of the CIA.”

 

                Realizing his mouth was hanging open, Jesse snapped it shut, shaking his head as he attempted to absorb the information he was hearing. “Whoa. What? CIA? Like, the US Central Intelligence Agency, CIA? Are you fucking with me?”

 

                Gus stared at Jesse blankly, his face rigid. “Do you even know anything about your country’s history?”

 

                “Look, I must have been sick that day in class, alright? What are you saying? That _our_ government was trading you guns for cocaine? And who’s _we,_ exactly?”

 

                Gus sighed as he poured in the beaten eggs from a bowl, stirring a wooden spoon into the mix. “When I was with the CNI, this was what we did. Aside from … our usual posts. I distinguished myself enough that Mamo – I mean, Contreras – initiated me into the next phase of military affairs. I was something of an attaché, and I traveled extensively for several years arranging deals. This was how I learned my business.” He glanced to Jesse with an amused smile, like he couldn’t believe how naïve Jesse was. “We dealt with many drug traffickers, and not just with the Colombians. It was part of my job as a _carabineros_. Pinochet was a brilliant man. He lined a lot of pockets, but also built up our army. He knew how to make friends, too. Important friends, including in your CIA. You have heard of a little scuffle called the Iran-Contra affair, have you not? Where do you think the Sandinistas got their weapons?”

 

                “You are freaking me out,” Jesse stated in distress. He didn’t want to hear this.

 

                “Your government has always been invested in our country,” Gus said matter-of-factly. “Even Nixon was said to have been very concerned that Allende be defeated. He feared another Communist threat, though I do not know for sure whether he sent aid to General Pinochet before the _coup d’état_. I only heard rumors in the camps. But President Reagan – that man was as duplicitous and power hungry as they come.” Gus laughed deep in his throat. “You Americans. You know so little of what truly goes on in your government, so quick to bury your nose in whatever entertains you, as long as it flashes a hundred different colors and sounds. You are content to live in ignorance.”

 

                Jesse felt offended, but didn’t understand enough of what Gus was talking about to get into an argument about it. He still needed to keep Gus in a talkative mood.

 

                “Well, it seems to me that this sort of stuff comes out sooner or later. There are plenty of people in this country who go looking for this kind of thing, getting dirt on our government. I just ain’t one of them. I’m a criminal, what do I care what my President is doing?”

 

                “Precisely,” Gus hissed as he took the frying pan off its ring, pointing behind him to one of the cupboards. “Get some plates and bring them here. Also, get the rolls from the counter. No more politics. It’s time to eat.”

 

                Later, as they scraped the last of the eggs from their plates, Jesse felt cool enough to broach the subject again. “Well, anyway. This, uh, deal we got going with the Venezuelans and that Australian guy. Is this what you were thinking of when you said you wanted me to, like, train people?”

 

                “Eventually,” Gus admitted. “Right now, you can only handle so much production. I can’t expand my business without more cooks. Even when it was you and Walter, I was limited.”

 

                “Just how big do you need this operation to get?” he asked baldly. It made him think of Walter’s greediness again. _More,_ so often being his answer to everything. “What, you’re not making enough millions yet? I worked it out, you know. 96 million for three months work – that’s more money than most people will ever see in a lifetime. Like, how much were you bringing in before Mist – Walter and me started working for you? Where do you even keep it all?” He waved his hands to indicate the house. “It’s not like you’re living it up in a mansion, or anything.”

 

                “It’s not about the money,” Gus sniffed as he set down his napkin. “It is about power. Power over men.” He eyed Jesse with a deep seriousness, and something glimmered there, something that Gus wanted to share. Jesse could feel it.

 

                “Like with me?” Jesse tilted his head, trying to figure Gus out. “Like what you do to me? That kind of power?” He shrugged a shoulder. “You get off on making everyone your bitch. I get it.”

 

                “It is more than that,” Gus stated emphatically. He looked down at his empty plate and crossed his arms. “It is not just … _revenge._ It is what a man craves.”

 

                “Revenge? For what? Like, for them killing your boyfriend? How can you stay so pissed about that when you did the same thing? You said it yourself – that’s the nature of this business. You can’t afford to be soft. Max knew the risks, too, didn’t he?”

 

                “This is not about Max,” Gus insisted. “I dealt with those men who were responsible. And in time, I will dole out Hector’s fate, too. This is about … something else. Something buried deep inside of us. The ability to be cruel. The urge to make others bend to our will. This is part of who we are as men. We must face it. And it is a constant struggle, to see who will lead, who will dominate. Who can control the board.”

 

                “What the hell are you talking about?” Jesse balked. “I thought we were discussing meth?”

 

                “When Contreras was put on the stand at his trial, he was asked if Pinochet knew of the murders of high ranking officials, knew of the trafficking and the tortures. He quoted what Pinochet had declared to the press years before. _Not a leaf moves in Chile if I don't move it._ This is what we desire in our hearts. Not just complete and utter control of our destinies, but of those around us.”

 

                Jesse felt a creeping sensation up his spine that flared into his shoulders. “Maybe you do. But that’s not my thing, you dig? I’m in it to make enough cheddar to take care of me and mine for the rest of our years. Maybe you should have gone into politics instead of making meth. Or stayed in the military.”

 

                “No, no more soldiers. I know what I want. I have always known.” The way Gus looked at him made Jesse feel like a gazelle in the sightline of a tiger. Jesse picked up his glass of water and took a long drink.

 

                “The money is in Zurich,” Gus offered after a few minutes of silence. “I also have a few offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands. I suggest the same for you. If Goodman is any good, he’ll agree.”

 

                “So, like, what about –” Jesse felt twisted up, not sure if he should continue. There were things he needed to know, but he had to be careful with Gus. “Um. Like, the three months,” he muttered, keeping his eyes on the table.

 

                “What three months?”

 

                Jesse snapped his eyes up, unable to hide his annoyance that Gus could forget such a thing. “You know. The three months I’m giving you … of my time. What’s supposed to happen after it’s up?”

 

                “What would you like to happen?” Gus asked, the timbre of his voice deep and inviting, a river running over Jesse’s resolve.

 

                “I don’t know. Am I … am I still gonna be your cook? If we’re not … you know, if I don’t have to come over here every weekend?”

 

                Something froze in Gus’s face. “You won’t want to come over?”

 

                Every hair on Jesse’s body stood tall. He had to be exceptionally delicate with whatever came out of his mouth next. “Sure. If – if you want me to. I’d be down with that. But … I won’t _have to_ , right? It’ll be my choice? Without – without worrying about Mr. Wh- fuck, I mean, the asshole – being hurt. We’re – we’re done with that, aren’t we?”

 

                An eyebrow arched. “Are we?”

 

                “Well, like, I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.” He held out an open hand to Gus, attempting to keep him complacent. “I just want to know where we stand, Gus, when the three months is over. I’m doing what you want. But how long am I gonna be your cook? How much money are we talking, officially? I mean, you’re paying me more ‘cause of … you know, the _thing._ What I’m letting you do. Is that gonna change?” Gus lived in the world of business negotiations, and this was how Jesse needed to shape the conversation.

 

                Another long pause while Gus studied him in great measure. “Your contract can remain open ended for the time being,” he finally said. “Once you have … served the terms of our agreement, I would still like us to remain .. _close_. Our working relationship will continue. I have no complaints with the meth you produce. I would like us to have a long and fruitful collaboration. In business, and in pleasure.” He stood up suddenly, his plate in hand. “Walter will be safe, as long as he remains out of our way. And that goes for his brother-in-law.”

 

                “Okay, then,” Jesse sighed with relief, before standing up to help Gus with the dishes.

 

* * *

 

                It was niggling away at Gus. The conversation had been on his mind for the last hour, and as he watched Jesse lying back on the chaise lighting a cigarette, it continued to replay in his head. The heat on Gus’s skin felt like heavy blankets as they sunbathed, but he lay there with Jesse on the deck, absorbing the last of the sun before it would be too cold for lazy days like this. He glanced back at the boy, watched the plume of smoke exit his mouth in drawling curlicues. This morning, he had wanted to believe that Jesse desired him just as much as he wanted the boy; that their night of lovemaking had been equally pleasurable to them both, but in the light of day, he was no longer sure of Jesse’s agenda. Why had he asked about the arrangement?

 

                “Damn, it feels good out here. Just enough of a breeze to cool us off, you know? I’ll miss it. I hate winter.” Jesse scratched in the center of his chest, the gold necklace gleaming against honeyed skin. He turned his head and opened one eye, staring beyond the stucco wall towards Jerry’s yard. Gus had convinced Jesse to come out on the deck in the jock strap, since he’d had no swim trunks in the house for him. The boy had been positively embarrassed at the suggestion he sunbathe in the nude, and Gus had been tempted to push it, to make the boy follow orders, but had held back for some reason, allowing for a compromise. But the entire time they’d been outside, Jesse kept a watchful eye for their neighbor’s appearance, looking ready to bolt at the first sighting.

 

                “The weather here reminds me of back home but in reverse. We have plenty of snow up in the mountains, but in the city, you would rarely see any. The nights would get cold, especially with the winds, but I didn’t mind it. Right now, it is Spring there. Everything feels alive.”

 

                “Seriously? Like, when’s autumn start, then?”

 

                “Around March. The coldest months are in June to late August, but as I said, if you want the snow, you go to the ski resorts.”

 

                “Sounds trippy,” the boy commented. “Was it hard? For you to, you know, get adjusted to the states. Did your girls ever live here?”

 

                “Yes, they did. In their teens. But they never assimilated very well, particularly Victoria. She missed her mother. Both of them applied to universities abroad as soon as they could.” He turned his head partway to Jesse, took note of his lean body sizzling under the sun and considered taking him downstairs. “You stayed in Victoria’s old room,” he said.

 

                Jesse rose up on his elbows, looking disturbed. “What? You … you fucked me in your _daughter’s_ room? Dude.”

 

                Gus frowned. “She hasn’t been inside that room for years. It is hardly consecrated ground.”

 

                “Yeah, but that’s just … _creepy._ Thank God you didn’t leave her Hello Kitty sheets on the bed. Or whatever she was into.”

 

                “It was redecorated once she left for school.” Gus felt increasingly bothered by the boy’s temperament. Something had changed in him and Gus didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all. The return of Pinkman’s cockiness was making him feel as if he’d been acting the fool the night before.

 

                Jesse cast a hand to the layout of the landscaping in the backyard, the garden ripe with rhododendron and the last of the dahlias. “How come you don’t have a pool? Seems like you should have one. I could totally go for a dip right now.”

 

                “Why don’t you go visit Jerry then,” Gus said snidely as he laid his head back on the chaise’s tiny pillow and closed his eyes. “I’m sure he would love to have you in his.”

 

                There was no response, but Gus could feel the boy staring at him. He heard him sit up, the squeak of the lounge chair drowning out the faraway sounds of mowers and traffic, followed by the long scream of a jet plane overhead as it made its descent to the airport south of them, forever reminding him of the Wayfarer crash. There was the tinkle of ice swirling against glass as Jesse lifted his drink. The mosquitoes buzzed close by but Gus was listening to the same line over and over in his head. _But I won’t have to, right?_

 

                “Hey, you want me to get you some more iced tea,” the boy asked. “I need to go inside to use the john.”

 

                “No, I need nothing from you,” Gus replied, his accent thick. He sat up suddenly and turned in his seat, caught Jesse’s surprised face. “I think I am done here. I will go inside, as well. The sun is giving me a headache.” He reached over to grab at his robe and stood up, brusquely slipping it on. Gus tied the belt as he shuffled his feet into sandals, but Jesse stayed where he was, watching him warily as a flush of guilt spread across his face. Gus left the deck and went inside, leaving the glass door open.

 

                Jesse followed him right after, seemed to hover behind Gus as he went to find some ibuprofen in the cupboards. “What?” he demanded, not even bothering to turn around as he pulled down the bottle he sought.

 

                “Uh, nothing,” he heard, the voice no longer sounding very confident. “I’m just going to use the bathroom, like I said.”

 

                “So go! Stop hovering, like a gnat.”

 

                “Did … did I do something wrong?”

 

                Gus finally faced him, while filling a glass of water from the tap. “Why do you say this? I simply don’t need you under my feet.” He dropped the pills on his tongue and swallowed them with the water. “Go find something to do while I lie down in my room. I need to think about what I will do with you next.”

 

                “What does that mean? Like, _professionally?_ Or you mean, here?”

 

                “Here! In this house! Where you are right now!” Gus shouted. “ _¡Ya basta!_ Do I need to explain everything to you?”

 

                “Alright! Jesus! Chill the fuck out, why dont’cha! I won’t talk to you, anymore, okay?!”

 

                Gus made himself calm down in the next breath, putting a hand over his eyes. “I told you. I have a headache. I just need to lie down in the dark for a bit. Why don’t you go to my office and find something to read from the bookcases?” he suggested helpfully.

 

                The boy softened towards him. “Yeah, okay. I can do that.”

 

                “Good. I will come down in a little while.”

 

                He ignored Jesse as he strode off into the other room, made his way up the staircase with plodding, heavy steps. A deep weariness seemed to settle into his bones. When he got to his room, he closed the door, feeling peace in the silence. He crawled under the duvet and pressed his forehead to a cool pillow. What was Pinkman thinking? Gus reviewed the events from the evening before, pictured Jesse in this very bed as he had spread himself for Gus, had carried on in ecstasy with every act that Gus had performed on him. What had sounded like music to him then now screeched in his ears. The boy had laid it on too thick. He thought about what the boy wanted. Money, definitely. Walter’s safety. He wanted to know more about the business but for what purpose?

The questions plagued him as his head continued to throb. Gus closed his eyes, thought of the things he still wanted to do to Pinkman. The morning came back to taunt him, the way Pinkman had flipped him in bed, had overpowered him for a brief moment. As Gus’s eyes grew heavier, he felt the boy’s body on top of him, that wiry strength pressing into him, reminding him of another time, decades before. How the cadets had held him down. His fear had lodged in his throat, with the very real threat of suffocation as they pressed the sheets over his face. Gus’s eyes rolled under lids, his distress looming, and he fought to stay calm. That was a long time ago. Those boys were all dead now. No one would ever do such things to him again.

 

                There were voices. His head was filled with them, but then all fell silent again. A hand lightly pressed to his shoulder and suddenly Gus bolted upright, a long gasp escaping him. He looked behind him and saw the boy there sitting at the edge of the bed, appearing concerned and startled at once.

 

                “Hey. Take it easy. You okay? I just came in to see if I could get you anything. You’ve been in here for a few hours.”

 

                Gus had no idea what he was talking about. It had only been a few minutes, surely. But something was alight in him, burned through his skin, and he cupped both hands around Jesse’s neck and pulled the boy to him, kissing him with a fury that sprung up from somewhere deep. Jesse was his property when he was in this room, in this house, and he would put him to good use. It had been a mawkish flight of fancy he’d had, to think this young man was anything other than a thief, a hoodlum, a junkie. The boy was a good fuck, but he had to understand his place, had to understand who was in control.

 

Pinkman had wrapped his hands around Gus’s wrists and shifted up on his knees as the kiss went on. Gus tightened his hands around the boy’s neck, wielded his body to lay flat on the bed as he climbed over him, straddling the boy’s pelvis. He grabbed one of Pinkman’s wrists, pinned it above his head as Jesse had done to him that morning, the other hand still gripped around a throat.

 

                “What are you doing?” the boy choked out, his expression now panicked.

 

                “I know what I want to do today,” Gus said. “Get these off. No more clothes when you are here.” He released the boy, ripped open the short green dress robe he’d bought him. “When you are done, you will get on the floor, in position.”

 

                Jesse sat up, looking hurt and confused, but quickly slid the jockstrap off, until it hung on one ankle and he kicked it to let it land on the floor. The robe was flung to the side and Jesse dropped to the floor, scooting over on hands and knees until he was turned around, arranging himself in front of Gus in the proper formation.

 

                “What happened? Why are you so –”

                “Shut up,” Gus said cruelly. “You will speak only when I say you can.” He stood up and pointed to the footboard. “Now crawl over there. You are going to lean your body over the end, feet at each post, and wait for me.” Gus marched off to the closet to get his tray ready.

* * *

 

 

                It was almost a half hour later before he was finished. Shuddered moans came from the middle of the bed, where the boy’s head hung. A thick collar had been fitted around his neck, chains spreading out from three points to hook up at the headboard. Two clamps were snug in the boy’s mouth, clipped to the end of his tongue, and they, too, were strung to the headboard, the lines of gold links connecting him like ropes at the bow of a ship mooring it to land. More of the strands were pulled taut between the frame’s decorative circles and the boy’s wrists, were looped through the rings at his nipples. Pinkman cried out again, the sound muffled and pained.

 

                “I said be quiet,” Gus chided. He slid the last needle in, the padded muscle in the back of the boy’s thighs now reddened and adorned with several rows of steel. Both of Pinkman’s ankles were locked to the bottoms of the frame's bed posts, spreading him open wide, while the footboard lifted his ass high enough to give Gus a good aim. Gus was dressed, feeling back at ease in his old uniform. He went back into the closet.

 

                When he came out, he held one of the thin canes between his fists, at either end. The boy had to learn. He had no power here.

 

                Gus stepped up behind Pinkman, raised the rattan in his hand. “This is for your own good,” he said before cutting the cane through the air as hard as he could. It landed on soft flesh. There was a choke, and then a scream, the boy bucking savagely in his restraints as more cries filled the room.

 

                “That was just the first. Only nine more to go.” He walked to the side of the bed, pulled the boy up by a fistful of hair and leaned down to look into his face. Tears were already tracking down Pinkman’s cheeks. “And when I am done with this, we will find more things for you to master, see how much your tolerance for pain has increased. I have you for seven more hours.”

 

                Gus walked slowly to the other end of the bed again, held the cane high up in the air. “Are you ready?” He swung his arm with all of his strength as he brought down the rod once more.

 

 

* * *

 

 

                The nurse behind the glass partition glanced at him with only a mild interest. “Name, please?”

 

                “I’m here to see a Mr. Hector Salamanca,” Walter told her.

 

                “That’s lovely, sir, but I need _your_ name,” and she tapped her pen to the clipboard on the other side of the counter, sitting right under Walter’s hand.

 

                “Oh! Sorry. I didn’t, uh … of course.” He took the pen she handed him and wrote down a name. “Uh, my name is Hank. Hank Schrader.”

 

                “That’s fine, Mr. Schrader. Is Mr. Salamanca expecting a visit from you today?”

 

                “I doubt he remembers,” Walt answered. “But he’s going to want to see me.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, all! I know, it's been forever. Things have been hectic since the holidays, and then writing for Blue Chrismeth further delayed this chapter. But fear not, children. We're in the home stretch. The action that comes next was the first scene that came to me for this story, so I should be able to write it very quickly, as will the remainder of chapters. I hope to be able to get back to my weekly schedule, work permitting, but I promise it won't be another month again between updates.
> 
> SegaBarrett, Cricket, and Jennifurby - glad you enjoyed the music! I had fun with that. And the rest. Ha ha, to SegaBarret, the name of the band _didn't even occur to me!_. I've just loved them forever. So funny that I didn't even notice that, I just knew the music was what I wanted for the scene.
> 
> Thanks so much to all of you who've been reading and offering Kudos. I'm always curious, when I get this far into a long, multi-chaptered story, if the commenters from the beginning are still reading. So if you haven't commented in a while (which, of course, is fine), I'd love to hear that you're still out there enjoying the story.


	32. The Mistake

 

_I have lived under the threat of death for a year now, and because of that, I’ve made choices. I alone should suffer the consequences of those choices, no one else. And those consequences? They’re coming._

 

_“Puto pedazo de mierda!”_ Andrea dabbed at his back again, muttering another stream of Spanish profanities. She’d been carrying on for the last fifteen minutes, ever since he’d undressed at her urging and lain down on his stomach. Jesse caught every few words of her curse-riddled rant and had a pretty good understanding of what she wanted to see happen to Gus. It was probably a good thing that the man wasn’t currently nearby. Jesse worried that Andrea was angry enough to do something completely crazy, like go marching down to Los Pollos, and he kept looking over his shoulder to make sure she wasn’t getting ready to take off.

 

                It had finally quieted down when she swabbed a particularly nasty gash with the peroxide and Jesse yelled in pain, almost jumping off the bed.

 

                “Shit. Sorry, babe. I know it hurts, but try to stay still, I’m almost done with the worst of it. I’ll put some ointment on in a minute, okay? We’ll fix you up good as new.”

 

                “Yeah? You think that’s possible? Why don’t you go ahead and make me a brand new person while you’re at it,” he said, sighing into his pillow.

 

                “That _monster,”_ she hissed. “Motherfucking ... _pinga!_ This is barbaric. You _never_ break the skin! He can’t do this and get away with it. We have to do something about this creep now, Jesse.”

 

                “I’m working on it.” His voice was strained and hoarse, his body exhausted. The screaming from the day before had gone on for a while, all of it ripping through his throat as he fought to swallow. His tongue still felt two sizes too big from the clamps Gus had used on him. “I think I fucked up, though.”

 

                “How? What happened? Did you do what I said? Was it not working?” Andrea touched his back with a cold glob and Jesse flinched again, even though the unguent was welcomed.

 

                He calculated his mistake. Gus had been notably pissed off after the talk about the arrangement and the money. And it had only gotten worse. His ravaged backside could attest to just how angry Gus had become. But it marked off something in Jesse’s brain, something that came back to him overnight. Gus hadn’t kissed him again, not even as he’d hobbled out of the front door when it was time to go. The man hadn’t just been wielding his power because he could. Gus had been upset because his feelings had been hurt. Jesse had had enough girlfriends to know the reaction well.

 

                “I did exactly like what we talked about. You know, he took me out on Friday. To this club. Wanted me to meet these guys. I totally played the tease, right? Hell, Gus even _danced_ with me. And then … you know, later. It was all working.”

 

                “What happened later?” Andrea asked with earnest interest as she pressed a band-aid to a spot by his shoulder blade. “How was he acting?”

 

                Like a guy in love, Jesse realized. The way Gus had been all over him, so eager to make Jesse’s body feel things. It had almost been selfless.

 

                “I don’t know. Like, really into it.” Jesse wasn’t about to go into specifics with her. “He was almost _nice,_ I guess. For Gus, that is.” He could sense Andrea waiting for more of an explanation. “It was just a normal night, you get me? He didn’t pull any of his usual fucked-up games then. It wasn’t until yesterday afternoon when he started acting pissy.”

 

                “What did you say to him? Were you talking about something that he didn’t like?”

 

                “Andrea! Just forget it, okay? Who knows why the dude does anything? He doesn’t have a normal working brain. I’ll figure this out, but right now, I just want to sleep, for like, two days straight.” He sighed again, long and heavy. “Shit. I need some herbage so fucking bad.”

 

                “Do you need some more Tylenol? I might be able to get you some Percocet from my grandmother. I know she’s got a stash somewhere.”

 

                “Nah, I’m okay, just being a baby. I’m … tired, is all.” Yet he was afraid to close his eyes lest his mind serve up more images of what Gus had done to him. The needles had been bad enough, and the caning had been more than he thought he could endure. But what had happened after in the gym was something he couldn’t even think about. His brain refused to process it.

 

                “Jesse, tell me what happened first. From the beginning. Where do you think it went wrong – you know, whatever set him off? Let’s figure it out together, alright? I don’t want you near him until we can make sure this doesn’t happen again. I mean, Christ, your ass, babe.” She climbed over his body so that she could face him. “It’s like raw meat. The man is an animal.”

 

                “I’ll be fine. It looks worse than it feels. I’m practically numb down there, anyway. You should head home now.”

 

                “No. I’m not leaving you like this. I’m gonna take care of you. I can have my grandmother drop Brock off later, after dinner. We can stay over, like before.”

 

                “No!” Jesse tried to sit up, his panic instantly present. “No, I need you to go home. Don’t even think of bringing Brock here. You two … you need to stay away from me for a while,” he said, a sudden desperation to keep them safe overwhelming him. He’d made a huge mistake. He should never have gotten Andrea involved – never even gone back to see the two of them. The idea of Gus retaliating against him by taking it out on Andrea and Brock had now become a very real threat.

 

                “What? What are you talking about, Jesse? No way I’m leaving you here alone. We need to come up with a plan to … get rid of this guy.”

 

                Jesse winced. “Jesus, are you listening to yourself? What do you think you’re going to do, huh? Take him out? Who are you, now? Tony Soprano? This is _my_ problem, Andrea. You guys are in a lot of danger, hanging around me. I was stupid. I should have seen this coming. _But I’ll take care of this,”_ he insisted. “Shit,” he hissed, his terror increasing, “you two should go away somewhere. Until it’s safe. I can send you to anyplace you want. But you shouldn’t be here.”

 

                “Jesse, I’m not going anywhere. Brock has school. I’m not turning his life upside down for this asshole.”

 

                “Andrea, think about what happened to your little brother. You said you would die first to protect Brock! To keep your baby safe? I’m telling you, the both of you need to get away from here. Away from me. At least until things die down. I – I can’t risk him coming after either of you.”

 

                “Stop this, Jesse! You’re scaring me!”

 

                “Good! You should be scared! You should be fucking terrified!” Jesse had pulled his body up from the bed, his entire back screaming in pain. “Now get out of here. I mean it. Don’t call me. Don’t try and contact me. If anything goes wrong, or looks suspicious, you call that number I gave you. Do whatever Mike says, okay? But stay the fuck away.”

 

                Andrea’s expression was caught between defiance and fear, but she no longer had any comebacks to give. Her mouth opened to speak before it promptly shut to a penciled, determined line. She got up and off the bed, stood looking at Jesse for a few more moments, then suddenly walked out of the room. Jesse heard her run down the stairs, heard the thud and jangle of her purse and keys being handled down in the living room, and then the door slammed shut, echoing throughout the house with a lingering vibration.

 

                Jesse lay back down on his stomach, his head hanging off the side of the bed. It was the best thing for them, he convinced himself, feeling another stab of guilt worm its way up through his intestines. Gus was too unstable at the moment. Jesse had nothing to fight him with. Rifling through his desk while Gus had been asleep in his room hadn’t brought forth anything of consequence. Most of the drawers had been locked, Gus’s secrets still tucked away safely. He had gained one name and it was one unlikely to help him and Mr. White get rid of Gus. Jesse debated whether he should try to contact Walter. Or maybe he should talk to Mike, although the thought of getting up and going to sit in a diner was positively painful to him in this condition. He didn’t want Mike to see him like this, anyway. He’d know something was up.

 

                Jesse shifted over to the center of the bed and spread his arms out on either side of him. His body still throbbed, and he regretted not taking Andrea up on her offer of painkillers. His breathing slowed, his mind tossing around ideas and little slices of Gus’s conversation. There had to be something in there he could use. He couldn’t win this by offering up his body to Gus like some sacrificial lamb. There had to be a way. Gus had an Achilles heel. He saw Hector’s face again, from that day in the nursing home, the sight of the man scrunching up his face, his mouth twisted, staring at Jesse like he wanted to tear him apart through sheer will, and it made him feel queasy. Mr. White would think of something, he thought in exhaustion. Mr. White would come through and save them both. Jesse just needed to rest. He needed to sleep.

 

                The lids of his eyes grew heavier, the room shutting out in short intervals as they closed and opened, closed and opened. And then the dark crept in and Jesse faded into sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

                The phone on his desk rang as Gus tried to get some work done on his laptop. He picked it up without stopping what he was doing, shifting the handset between his shoulder and ear as he continued to type. “Yes?”

 

                “It’s me,” Tyrus said. “We’ve got a major problem.”

 

                Gus stopped working, sat up straighter. “What is it?” His thoughts immediately went to Jesse.

 

                “It’s Walter,” Tyrus hissed. “I’ve been following him, as instructed. I’m sitting in the parking lot of Casa Tranquila right now.”

 

                “What?” Gus stood up quickly, his body instantly rigid as some papers fell from his desk.

 

                “He’s been in there for the last twenty minutes. What would you like me to do? Go inside or wait for him to come out and keep following him?”

 

                “Wait for him to leave,” Gus directed, feeling blindsided. “Then check on Hector. See what they know at the desk. I will take care of Walter. I know where he is going.”

 

                When Gus put down the phone, the room swam around him, his rage immediate – pulsing and visceral. There was only one way that Walter could have found out about Hector. One person.

 

                Gus marched from the room with eyes burning. He had made a grave error in judgment. Pinkman would pay for this.

 

 

* * *

 

               

 

                Walter hurried through Jesse’s neighborhood, walking as fast as was acceptable without looking conspicuous. He darted down the side of the brown house again, running to the back wall as soon as he was out of sight. Things were moving quickly now, and it was like electricity running through Walter’s body, feeling so close to victory. Salamanca had conveyed his willingness with a few drawn out dings on his bell, but it had taken some time to convince the old bull. He had already called Skyler and had given her the story about the wire tapping on the house, somehow managing to talk her into picking up Junior after school and taking the kids to the hotel he’d booked a room at. They were going to have to be out of the way for the next part, as he finished getting the materials for the homemade bomb together. Hank and Marie’s house had been empty the last few days and he’d considered going there, but he had caught Tyrus in the area, even after Hank and Marie had left for the airport. He was getting a lot better at spotting the man on a tail, and he’d changed his car enough times now that the rental places were starting to blur together. He’d been very careful on his way to the nursing home; he was sure he was in the clear. Now he just needed Jesse to put the last part of the plan into action.

 

                He slapped his hand to the back door of the house. “Jesse!” he hissed, his voice a strained whisper near the window. It was quiet from the other side, but Walt banged louder, trying to hold his tongue before he started yelling. They didn’t have time for Jesse to be lollygagging about. This needed to happen soon. Walter needed his life back.

 

                His palm hit the wood in frenzied staccato smacks, his impatience cresting as he called out once more. “Jesse!”

 

                “Alright! Enough!” he heard on the other side of the door, the moment before it opened and there stood Jesse, fighting to get his shirt dragged to his hips. “What the hell is _wrong_ with you? Get in. Before someone sees you.” Walter rushed into the house as Jesse stood aside, darted around on his feet in the kitchen with the sense that everything was coming together, everything would soon be back on track. He looked at Jesse’s wide-eyed, angered expression and couldn’t stop the sick grin that flushed in his face.

 

                “I got him! We are good to go, Jesse. I just need you to do one more thing, and then this entire _horrible_ mess will be over.”

 

                “What the hell are you talking about? I told you, man. Mike is around now; you can’t keep coming over here! Do you even listen to _anything_ I say? This is some serious _shit_ , Walt.”

 

                Walt’s grin dropped, momentarily taken aback by Jesse’s familiarity. He’d only called him that once before, and it had been a memorable exchange, heated and full of swagger.

 

                “Look, this is _important_ or I wouldn’t be here _._ Tuco’s uncle is willing to do this. But I need you to get Gus over there. I would have used Hank as the lure, but I sent him to Germany, to get him out of the way while we fix this. You need to set up another visit. By tomorrow. I’ll have everything ready to go by then.”

 

                “What the fuck are you going on about? Set up a visit to see Hector? How am I gonna do that?” His eyes creased as he jerked a finger over his shoulder. “Wait. Did you just go there? You went to see Old Man Ringer?” A shot of fear pierced his features. “Oh, shit. Oh my God. What have you done, Mr. White?”

 

                Walter’s excitement turned to annoyance. “I just finished _telling you._ We’ve got his cooperation. He wants Gus finished as much as we do. And he’ll do what he has to in order for that to happen. Now, you need to go in to the lab tomorrow, right? How soon do you think you can get Gus down there?”

 

                “To do what?! Have some tea and cakes? What do I look like, his advisor? Gus does what he wants, man. He goes to visit Hector when he feels like torturing someone els – when he wants to gloat, I told you. I don’t got a say in that. And how am I supposed to bring that suggestion up, exactly? _Oh, hey, Gus, let’s go reminisce about killing all of Hector’s family again. It’ll be fun!_ Yeah, I don’t think so.” Jesse put his hands over his face. “ _Fuuuuck_ , this is gonna be bad, isn’t it?”

 

                Walter grabbed Jesse by the biceps. “Jesse, pull yourself together. We are so close! Tell me another reason why Gus goes on these visits. What does he talk about? _Think._ I know you can do this. We need to get him down there.” He huffed with adrenaline. “This was your idea, remember? And it’s a good one. This can work. But we need to think of something, quick.” He had a sudden brainstorm. “If Salamanca was sick, suddenly … would they call him? Would Gus expect to be alerted? We could get Saul to have someone call, like before.”

 

                “Shit, I don’t know!” Jesse shouted, his stress gaining traction. “I mean, the nurses there knew him, it seemed like, but I don’t know what he’s got set up there. And what are you even gonna–” The cell phone sitting on Jesse’s island counter suddenly buzzed and they both turned to gawk at it. Jesse picked it up, glanced at the face with a growing alarm and flipped up the receiver. “Yeah,” he said forcefully.

 

                His expression ran through a series of changes as a gruff voice spoke loudly on the other end. 

 

                “Wait, hold on, Mike,” Jesse interrupted, confirming the caller. “What are you talking about? I’ve been here. I haven’t left the house since last night.” All of the color suddenly drained from his face, his eyes going huge. “What? He did that?” Jesse shot a damning look at Walter, licked his lips as he shook his head. “No, I don’t know. I swear! _What?!_ ” he cried. “He’s on his way now?” The terror was back in his eyes, and Walter felt the hair on his neck raise. Jesse snapped the phone shut and threw it on the island’s tile. “Fuck. _Fuck!_ I knew it. You need to go. Now.” Jesse’s voice was hoarse as he took hold of Walter and pushed him towards the door. “Go grab your family. Get the fuck out of town,” he started rambling.

 

                “What happened? What’s going on?” Walt demanded, trying to suction the tread of his shoes to the floor. “Jesse! Tell me what’s happened! Who’s on his way?”

 

                “Gus! He knows what you did! Now you need to get gone, Mr. White!” Jesse was close to tears, his voice quaking with his fear.

 

                “How did he –” There was the sudden intrusion of a car braking to a halt coming from the front of Jesse’s house. They both stared towards the sound and then gaped at each other and froze, Walter realizing in an instant what was about to happen.

 

                Jesse opened the back door and pushed at Walter again. “Get the fuck out of here,” he hissed, the loud banging at the front making him look up with alarm.

 

                “Jesse, wait,” he started, but Jesse pushed him once more towards the steps outside before running to the front of the house.

 

                “I’m coming!” he yelled.

 

                Walter had only a second to act. He couldn’t just leave Jesse to whatever Gus was planning. He stepped inside, shut the door quietly and ran through the kitchen to the hallway, heard Jesse talking as he let someone in. “Gus! What are you doing here? What’s going on?” Walter ducked down and ran up the stairwell, the front room blocked by the wall. There was instant yelling in the living room to cover up his steps, and then a sudden bang, the walls shaking as Walter got to the landing. He looked quickly from side to side, remembered the bathroom and ran to his left. He had just narrowly closed the door, leaving it open only a sliver of a crack, when he heard them coming up the stairs, Jesse’s protesting whines being met by a booming and bone-chilling response.

 

                “I swear, I don’t know what you’re talking about, Gustavo!” he heard Jesse say. The bathroom’s door opened closest to the corner so that he was able to get a good peek down the staircase, could see the back of Jesse’s head inching his way up one step at a time.

 

                “YOU LIE!” came Gus’s thundering roar. “You were the _only one_ who knew! I expressly forbade you to see him and you did it anyway!”

 

                “But I didn’t! I swear!!” Jesse’s pleading grew desperate, his hands flailing in front of him as he came into view. Walter got a look at Gus and he instinctively drew back, held his breath. “I haven’t seen him since that night! I told you about it! I don’t know how he knew about that place! Maybe – maybe Schrader found out something –”

 

                “ENOUGH!” Gus’s shout ripped through the house and Walter felt it in his spine, in his kidneys, and his fear for Jesse sharpened. He glanced around the bathroom, looking for something heavy or sharp. He was an idiot for leaving his gun in the car. But he’d been too eager. And afraid that Jesse would see the gun as a threat. The shouts increased to a sharp cry, as a slap echoed around the walls. Walter put his eye back to the door jamb. Jesse was now at the top step, his back still to him but a hand holding his cheek.

 

                “Gus, please! Why would I want to talk to that guy! You know how much he treats me like shit! You’re the one paying me! Why would I fuck that up?”

 

                “Because you are a _fool!_ You show loyalty to a man who cares nothing about you!” Gus shouted. “I know this man, what lurks in his heart. He thinks he can control you. He’s planned something and he has you to carry it out for him. Where is he?! Answer me!” The man was zeroed in on Jesse’s face, his expression murderous, and Walter felt his breath catch again. He hadn’t foreseen this, hadn’t expected Gus to go after Jesse. His words to Gus in the desert rang in his ears. _No matter how hard you tried to turn him against me, to screw with his head so that he would hate my guts, and he still … won’t let you do it._ It had felt triumphant when he’d said it, realizing that he still had Jesse on his side even if the boy didn’t want to see him; that Gus wouldn’t be able to kill him. Now the gloating felt like a mistake, and his heart leapt into his throat when he saw Gus grab Jesse by the neck. Jesse whimpered, his pleas turned to blubbering.

 

                “Gus, I promise, I didn’t. Please, _please,_ you gotta believe me, I woul – _wouldn’t!_ ” The boy grabbed for Gus’s wrists to lessen the grip.

 

                And then Gus said something terrible; said it in a low, deathly hiss. Something that Walter couldn’t even be sure he had heard right, at first, but for the look in Gus’s face.

 

                _“Take off your clothes._ Now.”

 

                There was a shocked silence, as if even the house was holding its breath. Gus let go of Jesse and the boy tripped backwards, caught himself by holding on the to the banister’s curled end.

 

                “Gus,” he began quietly, holding out a hand to ward off the man. “Please,” he begged again. “You – you don’t mean that.”

 

                “I will not ask again,” Gus said with a cutting menace.

 

                “But – we just did that. I can’t – you can’t want me like that so soon.”

 

                “Do _not_ propose to tell me what I want. You will do as I say. _Now.”_

Walter watched in horror as Jesse bent his head down, grabbed his tee-shirt with trembling hands and began to drag it up and over his back. A strangled hiccup of a cry left him as he pulled it over his head, and as Walter watched him drop it to the floor, a flush of ice ran through him, the scene being played out before him seeming surreal. Jesse’s back – it was an obscenity. Before he could even register the stripes of red slashed up and down angry skin, Jesse was pushing down his track shorts and it only got worse. He wore nothing underneath, and seeing the state of him, Walter could understand why. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. This picture was not making sense to Walter, but he couldn’t look away.

 

                “Gus, look,” Jesse tried again, much softer this time. “I’ll do whatever you want, but … please believe me. I didn’t do this. I swear to God. On my little brother’s _life!_ I wouldn’t do that to you.” A hand reached out, stroked up the front of Gus’s coat. “ _Gustavo_ ,” Jesse said in a low murmur. “You know you have me. I only want to be with you.” He stepped up to the landing of the floor, began kneeling down. “I’ll – I’ll suck your cock, if you want. Just how you like. We had a nice time the other night, right?”

 

                “Turn. Around.” Gus’s tone was glacial, the bass of his voice sounding subterranean. He unbuttoned his coat; put a hand in to his side. When he pulled it back out there was something long and black in it. Walter stared hard at the truncheon as Gus pointed it towards Jesse’s chin, tried to swallow but his throat was dry as bone. He dragged his face away, afraid to look any longer, but the mirrored cabinet held the image of them through the split in the door. Walter opened it so that the reflection caught everything. “You will _crawl_ to your room,” Gus commanded.

 

                “Oh, shit,” Jesse swore in choked sobs, openly weeping now, his hands raised up in appeal. “Please.” He swallowed his tears. “You ca-can’t do this. I – I’m still messed up from yesterday. You – you hurt me pretty bad, Gustavo. I mean, it’s not even Friday yet. We had a deal. We had a _deal.”_

“You are mine, when I say you are mine. This is how it will be. Now _go._ ”

 

                Walter saw Jesse turn and put his hands to the floor, another sob breaking free, and finally he had to look away, his eyes scouring the tiny room for something he could use, anything he could brandish as a weapon. He heard Jesse’s knees thumping on the hardwood, heard Gus’s heels clicking behind him, the two of them passing his door as he held his breath again. Jesse was making wheezing, keening sounds as he passed and Walter gritted his teeth and wondered again just what the hell kind of madness he had walked into. As soon as he heard them make their way into Jesse’s room, he ripped open the mirror cabinet all the way, scanning it for scissors. He slid open the drawers as the volume of Jesse’s begging increased. There was the muffled drop of a body to the bed and Walter closed his eyes tightly for a second, another wave of revulsion making him reach for the sink’s edge, the room seeming to expand. Walter glanced through the junk in the drawers but found nothing useful, pulled out an old shaver with a surging sense of panic. There was a loud, sharp crack that made Walter freeze, followed by a blood-curdling shriek splitting the air. He gaped at his reflection in the mirror, his mouth opened in shock. He had to do something. _Now!_ A voice in his head roared.

 

                There was another scream as a second blow could be heard landing. Walter had opened the door, his nerves screeching like tires burning doughnuts on asphalt. He had to get downstairs. There were knives in the kitchen. He needed to make his way down there and back without being detected, needed the veil of surprise. Jesse was babbling hysterically, in a sped up voice full of terror, as another crack rent the air. The ensuing, agonized moan dissolved into more incoherent pleading, as Gus went on. Walter stepped out to the hall, but suddenly stopped himself. Slipping off his Wallabees, he set them down on the bathroom floor then pulled the door closed behind him without shutting it all the way. He quickly crept down the stairs in his socks, Jesse’s screams making him feel dizzy and frantic.

 

                He was almost to the bottom floor when he heard it. The bed slammed into the wall with a shudder as Jesse’s cries turned to shouts. “Gus! Wait! Don’t do this.” There was a pained moan with another slam to the plaster. “I didn’t say anything, I _swear to God!”_ Then another one. Walter looked up completely dumbfounded, his lip curling as disgust and rage and fear swirled in his gut. The banging became rhythmic, Jesse’s protestations falling into groans. “ _Gu-u-ussssss_ ,” he rasped, his charred voice snaking into the hallway and down the staircase, in time with the bed’s motions. “ _Please_. You have to believe me.”

 

                Walter snapped out of his trance; made himself move. He ran into the kitchen, almost slipping on the tile, and he reached out to grab hold of the molding around the entrance to keep from falling. His hunt continued, and this time he didn’t even try to stifle the noise, but began pulling open drawers two at a time, trying to recall where Jesse kept the cutlery. Everything was different since the renovation. He glanced up and saw a knife block under the cupboards, the selection of wooden handles placed in rows denoting their worth. Another agonized scream from Jesse made him leap to the other side of the room, grabbing the handle that sat in the widest slot. The shining blade pulled free and it was good, it was big enough, and Walter caught his warped and haggard reflection in the steel for a split second before he was turning to go back upstairs with renewed adrenaline.

 

                He ran to the hall, was on the second step on the way up when he heard Gus near the bedroom’s doorway. “You will wait here until I come back and deal with you,” he was saying in his deadly baritone, and Walt thought he heard the clink of a belt buckle. “I will take care of your precious partner once and for all.”

 

                “No!! Gus, don’t! It’s nothing! I swear, he doesn’t know anything!” Jesse slurred, like there was something wrong with his mouth, and Walter stepped back down, twisted his body around and pressed himself flat to the wall on the other side of the stairs as he heard Gus come storming down.

 

                He was at the bottom; Walt could see the back of Gus’s head, saw him adjusting his coat and buttoning it back up with the lift of his shoulders, when a phone buzzed. Walt pressed a hand to his jacket pocket with a moment of panic seizing his throat, but then realized it was Gus’s phone as the man held it to his ear.

 

                “Tell me,” he said briskly. Gus just stood there, listening to the other caller as Jesse’s cries and pitiful begging from upstairs continued. Walter gripped the knife in his hand, held it above him, the blade flashing in the corner of his eye. Gus was arguing into the receiver, but Walt moved forward, the knife still raised high, the only sound his heart thudding in his ears. He was a few steps away. He was going to do this. He was going to stab this man to death. Walter saw his blood pumping in front of his eyes, imagined it spouting from Gus’s neck. He would do this.

 

                The knife rose higher.

 

                “No! I do this!” Gus strode forward, breaking the spell. Walter held back, watched as Gus began issuing commands into the phone as he rounded the hallway where the shelves in the wall sat. “I have Pinkman taken care of. You will leave him to me. Find Walter now! Look everywhere you have to!”

 

                Walter was frozen to the spot, waited until he heard the front door bang shut. Another few seconds later and the Volvo roared to life. Walter heard the screech of tires again as the car backed out of the drive in a hurry, and he couldn’t move for several minutes, couldn’t even breathe. The knife was still in his white-knuckled grip. He heard grunting from upstairs, the sound of metal against wood, and then the bed hit the wall again. Jesse released a determined roar and then a second later Walter heard the sick snap of bone. An ear shattering scream came the next second.

 

                “Jesse!”

 

                He ran up the stairs, feeling winded, his heart pumping wildly, but that fear coalescing into something primal and resilient. He wanted to pound heads, wanted to smash his fist through walls. “Jesse!” he called as he ran into the bedroom.

 

                The face that stared back at him, eyes bugged out and mouth hanging open, was a nightmarish version of Jesse. He looked worse than when Walter had visited him in the hospital. The second time. Walter stood frozen again, not knowing what to say as Jesse continued gawking at him like that, his eyes still so huge, disbelieving, that face so often agape in aggravation or admiration now stuck in a sick grimace amidst a grisly scene.

 

                Jesse’s arm was over his head, his wrist shackled to the bed, but it was bent the wrong way, something grotesque about the direction it jutted out in. There was a yellowish discoloration already forming on his side, where the arm was pulled back, but Jesse was mostly covered with blood; indeed, much of it drooling from his mouth. One eye was already swelling shut.

 

                “My God,” Walter whispered. “What did he do to you?” He took a step forward and Jesse suddenly made gasping, growling noises, seemed to be pulling himself backwards. Walt looked down and saw the knife in his hand, let it drop to the floor. “Jesse, we need to move fast. I don’t know how long we’ve got.”

 

                “ _Wuhhtryou doin’ere,”_ Jesse mumbled through the fat lip and the blood in his mouth as though it were stuffed with cotton balls.

 

                Walter ran to the other side of the bed and Jesse tried to shrink away from him again, but he reached over the boy’s head, to where the handcuff was attached. “What the hell? He’s got the key, I’m assuming.” He turned his head from side to side looking for another tool. “We need to get you out of this. You have a hacksaw downstairs, by any chance?”

 

                “Go!” Jesse finally insisted in a panic, breaking out of his shock. “B’fer he gess back.”

 

                “I’m not leaving you like this. We need to get you to a hospital.” He pulled at the handcuff where it was circled around the post of Jesse’s headboard and the boy screamed in pain again. “Sorry,” he breathed, trying to figure out how he was going to break Jesse loose.

 

                “Key. In drawer,” Jesse mumbled. With his free hand, he pointed to his nightstand on the other side of the bed. Walter ran around it, recalling the disarray the room had been in the week before. He opened the drawer and rooted around, found a set of tiny keys amid objects he was not interested in knowing any more about. But there was a pair of drumsticks inside and Walt grabbed them with the keys. He rounded back to the other side and quickly undid the cuffs, as Jesse cried out some more. He’d need to set the bone with something and he snapped a drum stick over his knee to use as a makeshift splint.

 

                “I need to get some bandage tape, or whatever you’ve got, so I can keep the broken bone stationary. Just breathe steady through your nose and try to calm down, son. We’ll be out of here in a minute.”

 

                “Yerrrfamily,” Jesse croaked. “Gus is looking feryou. He’ll go straight to them.”

 

                Walter paused for a moment, his fear escalating. “I – I sent them to a place. They won’t know where to find them right away. We have some time to fix this.” All bets were off now. There was no longer the luxury of plotting for a tidy execution, free from suspicion. Walter had to get rid of Gus by any means necessary.

 

                “ _No._ Go!” Jesse tried again.

 

                “Jesse, I need you to listen to me,” he began, putting his hands on either side of Jesse’s face, the boy still dazed and in shock, his breaths coming in stilted wheezes. “We need to get you out of here. Gus was on the phone to Tyrus or Mike – whichever one, it doesn’t matter at this point. Now, I need you to follow my instructions. We are going to get you out of here and to a doctor. I’ll take care of my family. But I need your help. I’m going to find some tape and we’re going to get your wrist set. Then we’re going to get you dressed and down to your car. Are you with me so far?”

 

                Jesse slowly nodded his head, his eyes locked to Walt’s.

 

                “Good. Now don’t move. Keep your arm above your head like you’re doing now. I’ll be right back.”

 

                He ran back into the bathroom, grabbing the handle on a drawer forcefully, where he’d seen the circular metal loop of some bandage tape earlier. Walter stopped to look up at his face in the mirror, noticed his skin was ashen. He bent down to splash some water on him from the tap and took hold of the hand towel next to the sink to pat his face dry. He brought it with him back to the bedroom.

 

                “Here, hold this over your eye with your good hand. You’re still bleeding,” he told Jesse. “Now, this is going to hurt for a bit, but we need to straighten and confine the wrist bone. It’s most likely a distal radius fracture, by the looks of the angle. Okay, take a deep breath.” Walter held the broken pieces of drum sticks to each side of Jesse’s wrists and started to wrap the tape around. Jesse groaned behind gritted teeth, his jaw flexing and eyes squeezed shut. Tears slipped down the sides of his temple, but there were no other complaints from Jesse while Walter hurriedly administered first aid. He laid the arm down gingerly atop the boy’s chest and went to get some clothes for him from the closet. It had been impossible not to notice the older marks on Jesse’s body and Walter had attempted to keep his eyes averted, trying not to see the evidence staring him in the face.

 

                Tearing through the hangers, Walter found some sweat pants and pulled them off; ripped a button-down shirt from another one. He couldn’t remember ever seeing Jesse in one, but t-shirts were out of the question with his injury. When he went to back to Jesse’s side, he put a hand to his shoulder to help him up.

 

                “Let’s get you dressed, and then down the stairs, okay? One thing at a time. Nice and easy,” he muttered smoothly, in an effort to keep Jesse calm. As soon as Jesse tried to sit up, he yelled again, his expression disfigured in pain.

 

                “Ah, _hurts_ ,” Jesse groaned, even though he hadn’t moved his wrist. Walter pressed a hand to just under Jesse’s ribcage, where it was starting to swell. Jesse cried out once more.

 

                “ _Christ,”_ he swore. It was going to be a lot more difficult to move Jesse with a broken rib, if that’s what the tenderness and bruising indicated. Watching Gus slit a man’s throat in front of him had been horrific. A message sent loud and clear to the both of them. Walter had assumed any threat that Gus carried out would be swift and lethal, that Jesse was in less danger because Gus needed his skill. But seeing this kind of brutality waged on his partner was something else altogether, something he hadn’t anticipated, even with all of Jesse’s warnings. He saw the truncheon in Gus’s hand again, recalled Jesse’s tales about Gus’s notorious past. He thought he knew what kind of man he was dealing with, but Walter was no longer so sure. There were bruises on Jesse’s hip, down his legs. God only knew what Gus had been doing to the boy these last weeks since he’d cast Walter out.

 

                “All right, let’s try this, another way,” he said, his tone still patient. “I’m going to, uh … just lay there, okay? I’ll just get these up,” and he slipped the leg holes over Jesse’s feet, attempting to slide them up with limited movement on Jesse’s part. He got the sweatpants most of the way up until the material reached Jesse’s thighs, and he needed him to raise his bottom. “Upsy daisy,” he said softly, the way he used to tease Junior when he was a kid and his legs were still too weak for crutches. Jesse tried to lift himself, holding clumsily onto Walter’s shoulder with his good hand. Another pained groan escaped him as Walter slid up the waistband, and Jesse groped for Walter’s neck, hooked his hand around him and held on with a death grip as Walter fiddled with the drawstring.

 

                “Good. You’re doing good, son. I’m – I need to … uh.” He kept his hands pressed to the small of Jesse’s back and eased him up to a sitting position the best that he could. Jesse’s breaths were speeding up with the exertion, a pressured hiss behind his teeth. “We’re almost there,” Walter said soothingly. “I’m going to be really careful, here. Just need to slip this on,” and he bunched the material of the shirt at the arm’s opening, tried to finesse it over the splint without touching Jesse.

 

                The arm of the shirt went on and Walter reached behind him to slip it across his back, still holding Jesse tightly to keep him upright. It was quiet as he worked, Jesse staying silent as Walter buttoned up what he could. “There. That wasn’t so bad, huh?” He tried to give Jesse an encouraging smile – they were almost out of there – but Jesse turned away, wouldn’t look at him, his eyes shining as another tear clung to his eyelashes. The side of his face was starting to swell up.

 

                “Jesse. It’s going to be alright. We’ll … we’ll fix this. I’m taking you to the hospital, and then I’ll take care of my family. Gus won’t get away this.”

 

                “He’ll kill you,” the boy said in a deadened, gravelly voice, eyes still fixed to the wall. “You should go.”

 

                “Getting down the stairs is going to be tricky,” Walter went on, disregarding what Jesse had said. “If you just lean in to me, on your good side, we’ll be fine. You need to keep your wrist up, like that, tight to your chest, above your heart. Are you hearing me, son? On the count of three, we’re going to stand up. Together. Okay, one … two … _three.”_

* * *

 

“Mr. Pinkman? Mr. Pinkman?” Walter looked up from his hands, where he sat in the waiting room. “The doctor can speak to you now,” the nurse said, a clipboard in her hand. “If you would follow me, please.”

 

                He got up and quickly fell in step with her, their path winding down busy and cluttered white halls until they came to a large room, lightly patterned curtains cordoning off each patient. The doctor stood talking to another nurse, both of them in scrubs, and as Walter strode up with his guide, he thought he saw a sliver of Jesse’s sandy hair a few curtains over.

 

                The doctor turned to him with a tight smile. “Mr. Pinkman, I’m Dr. Gallinger. I assume you’re the young man’s father?” He glanced down at his chart.

 

                “No, uncle,” Walter corrected with a lie. “His, uh, parents are abroad right now. Traveling in Hamburg. Germany, that is.” He waved a hand towards the partition that was possibly closing off Jesse. “I … found him at his place like that. He said it was a … a fight at some bar. How’s he doing?”

 

                “Well, he’s going to be hurting for a while. We plastered his wrist. It was a nice, clean break, a Colles fracture, we call it. The break was extra-articular, but we were able to do a reduction without surgery. The broken ribs, though,” and the doctor winced, grimacing at the news. “Looks like he had a few previous fractures, judging from the X-rays. We’ve got him bound up tight, but …” The doctor shrugged. “He was a little out of it when you brought him in, but he said he doesn’t want any pain medication administered. That’s going to be rough on him.”

 

                Walter wrung his hands, eager to see Jesse for himself. “Uh … he’s … well, he’s a recovering drug addict. Um, heroin. He’s been through the program, been clean for several months now. I think he’s just afraid to get, you know, sucked back in.”

 

                “Well, that’s understandable,” Gallinger said. “We gave him some non-opioid analgesics, but the best we can do is knock him out, for now. He’ll need to rest easy, let things heal. The first week, the pain will be acute, what with all that knitting going on. He has a few lacerations about the face. A bruised jaw. There’s, uh …” The doctor seemed to grow uneasy, as he looked around the room then proceeded to lower his voice. “There’s the matter of the … other marks we found. They look to be recent, but I don’t think they happened during this supposed fight. We tried to get some information out of him, but … he wasn’t exactly forthcoming.”

 

                Walt clenched his jaw, nodded in agreement. “Yes, he can be rather … secretive.”

 

                “I’m not making any judgment calls on your nephew, sir, but,” and the doctor lowered his voice another notch, almost to a whisper. “He might be involved with someone … _abusive._ I don’t know how much you know about your nephew’s sexual partners. Does he identify as gay?”

 

                The question provoked a deep pain in Walter’s gut as he felt another wash of guilt coat his insides. “Um, not to my knowledge. He’s – he’s had girlfriends. Has one now that I’m aware of. I mean, I’ve met her. She’s a nice girl. She has a little boy. Very … very responsible.”

 

                Gallinger shrugged again. “Well, I’ve seen it before. We always imagine battered wives and girlfriends when we think of abusive relationships, but … it happens between men, too. The marks and bruises that we saw, they suggest a pattern, behavior that’s been ongoing. Of course, maybe that’s what he was looking for. This ‘ _fight’_ could have been an invite for some rough sex gone wrong.”

 

                The doctor’s presumptions were starting to upset Walter. He didn’t want to hear anymore. “Well, I don’t see how any of this wild speculation is really any of your concern,” he said sternly. “Just tell me when I can take him home.”

 

                The doctor looked taken aback. “Sir, I just mean to inform you that this should be a police matter. If your nephew is involved with the person who did this to him, you might want to consider getting him to press charges against the guy. I don’t think he should be around this person anymore.”

 

                Walter relented, shook his head in apology. “Of course, I didn’t mean anything by that. I – I just want to see him already. Can I talk to him?”

 

                “Sure. He’s awake and mostly alert. He did get a nasty blow to the head, but we’ve ruled out a concussion. I’ll send you in with the nurse. We’re still monitoring his vital signs. I’m surprised he was even conscious when you brought him in. The kid’s made of some hard stuff, so we should be able to get him out of here by morning. I just want to keep him overnight for some more observation.”

 

                “Okay, then. That’s – that’s good.” Walter didn’t know just how long he could keep Jesse in the hospital, though, and what’s more, wasn’t even sure where he should take him. With Mike on the hunt, he knew they would be discovered sooner rather than later. There weren’t that many hospitals in the area. He’d spoken to Skyler while he’d been in the waiting room. She had assured him that she’d checked in under the assumed name Walter had reserved the room for, but that was hardly a guarantee that Mike or Gus wouldn’t be able to track them down. Walter Junior was complaining, apparently, but that was to be expected. He had a lot to figure out in a very short time. There were still bomb-making ingredients sitting in the trunk of his car.

 

                A young brunette wandered up to Walt's elbow. "You can take Mr. Pinkman to see Jesse now," the doctor instructed before patting him once on the back with his goodbye. He moved away to step behind another curtain.

 

                “This way, sir,” the girl said quietly. She kept looking back at him oddly as he followed her to Jesse’s bed. When she yanked back the curtain, Jesse rolled his head towards them, his face bandaged and his expression miserable.

 

                “Jesse, someone’s been waiting to see you,” the nurse said as she came up to his bedside. She switched on the bed’s lift and Jesse’s upper body rose higher with a whirring hum. “How are you doing? Do you want me to bring you anything special to drink? I can bring you some orange juice.”

 

                Jesse only shook his head, careful to move it slowly.

 

                “You probably can’t remember a whole lot right now,” she continued, annoying Walter who just wanted some privacy with the boy. “But we went to school together. Do you remember eleventh grade English Lit? Mrs. Gunderson?” She glanced back at Walter with something of an accusation in her eyes. “We used to skip class sometimes. Does that jog your memory at all?” She smiled fondly at him, and Jesse’s eyebrows knit together in recognition.

 

                “Yeah, I remember. Sarah Lynn, right?” he croaked.

 

                Her smile grew broader. “Yes. You do remember. It’s been a while, huh? How’s your mother doing? I always recall her being so nice to me.” She pulled out a metal tray and dropped a vial from her pocket then went to the glass cabinets to pull out a syringe and some swabs.

 

                “She’s … she’s good,” Jesse offered, his gaze drifting to Walter with a spark of fear.

 

                “She’s been _traveling_ , I told them,” Walter interjected quickly, locking eyes with Jesse. “The doctor, I mean.” He felt stupid. The girl obviously knew who he was if she’d gone to Wynne. “And so that’s why I brought you here,” he added loudly. “Because no one else was around. Remember?”

 

                “Oh, yeah,” Jesse answered half-heartedly while young Sarah Lynn started to prep him for his shot. She sat on a rolling stool and ran the square swab over the inside of his good arm. “Hey, what are you giving me? I told them no pain meds.”

 

                “It’s just a mild sedative, Jesse,” Walter intervened again. “To help you sleep, so you don’t have to suffer through the pain.”

 

                “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Jesse’s fear swamped his features, his agitation increasing. The nurse pulled the needle from its ampoule and held it aloft.

 

                “Believe me; you’re going to be needing this in another hour.” She reached a hand out to wipe back the growing bangs at Jesse’s forehead, the gesture too intimate for just a high school classmate. “I can’t believe you’re here. I always worried you’d end up …” She stopped talking, seemed embarrassed for a moment as she went back to searching for a vein.

 

                When she finished giving him the shot, she stood up to clear the remains and toss them into the trash can marked with the biohazard symbol. Walter had moved to the other side of him, where a chair sat for guests, and the nurse pulled up Jesse’s sheets, asked him again if he needed anything.

 

                “Just press this button if you need me,” she explained to him, placing the prompter in his hand. “Now get some rest. I’ll be back later to check on you.” She smiled at Jesse then turned and nodded her head towards Walter. “You can stay in here for now to keep him company, but he’ll be out pretty soon. See you later, Mr. White.”

 

 


	33. The Hospital

 

 

_I don’t know, sweetheart. But please … turn your life around._

 

                “I’m not sure _how_ long I’ll be. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” Walter pressed his fingertips to his eyelids again, the headache that had appeared a short while ago now starting to throb violently. Skyler’s pitch sharpened as she complained into the phone.

 

                “I _know,_ yes, we are running a business. I get that, Skyler, but my main concern right now is your safety and the kids’, not whether anyone is getting a full detailing and wax job at the damn car wash,” he growled. Sometimes, there was just no pleasing her.

 

                “Flynn is bored out of his skull and asking a lot of questions. What am I supposed to tell him, Walt? We can’t just stay here forever. You won’t tell me anything, and so I’m afraid to even let him out of the room. This is getting ridiculous. Just tell me when we can go back to the house. As long as I have a time to shoot for, I can deal with this.”

 

                “Look, can you just trust me on this? I’ve got to handle something – some _one –_ and then I can send you back home. It’s just very … _difficult_ right now, so if you would, Skyler, just ease up a little, and I will get you and Flynn and Holly in the house as soon as it is humanly possible.”

 

                “Are you with _him?_ That Pinkman kid?” she asked in a haughty accusation.

 

                Walter looked to his left, where Jesse was fast asleep. They had finally moved him to a proper room. His jaw clenched at her tone. “Yes, okay? There’s been … a complication. I can’t have you anywhere visible, we need to be discreet. But it won’t be for much longer. I promise. Tell Junior that we’ve got a gas leak or something and that I’m tending to it. I’ll send word as soon as I can.”

 

                When he hung up with Skyler, he dropped his head in his open palms, his elbows resting atop his knees. He felt exhausted, but there was too much to do, too many dangers to navigate. Jesse was out for now, but Walt knew he couldn’t keep him here. He thought about the condo still filled with the furniture he bought it with and most of his clothes, even though he’d essentially moved back into the house several weeks ago. Mike, and by extension, Gus, would surely have checked there first, but would they have a pair of eyes on it waiting for Walt to show up? Or would their attention be solely on the house? Walter couldn’t afford to make any more mistakes. With Gus aware of his visit to Hector, there would be no way he could set up the bomb through the old man, anymore. Gus wouldn’t go near him without a full inspection beforehand.

 

                He sighed heavily, reminding him of his father’s slow and mechanical breaths. When did this all go south? He’d been so upset by Gus’s machinations – the way he’d folded Jesse in as his replacement, making the boy feel trusted and wanted – that he’d lost sight of his bond with his partner. How had Gus managed that when Walt hadn’t been able to? Of course, he hadn’t really _tried_ to win Jesse over. He’d just naturally expected the boy to follow. It had been galling to watch Gus’s plan unfold, his pride taking a mighty hit as he was pushed aside. There had been a deep price to pay for his behavior, yet it now occurred to him that Jesse had foot most of the bill.

 

                The scene in Jesse’s house continued to replay in Walt’s mind involuntarily. He could no longer deny what had been going on. It was frustrating not being able to put the images in a tidy box and shuffle it to the back of his brain, as he’d done with the rest of the violence they’d dealt with since this all began. But realizing the lengths that Jesse had been willing to go in order to keep Walter alive no longer felt like much of a win. Walter felt deeply ashamed, and it enveloped him in a wet fog, thick and clingy. He saw Jesse’s earnest face that day in the car, when he’d promised Walter that Gus would leave his family alone, and understood that this depraved arrangement had been going on since then, if not before. _We had a deal!_ Jesse’s panicked cry filled his ears and he turned his face away from the bed, as if Jesse were making the accusation to him, not Gus. The deal where he was supposed to have his partner’s back, just as Jesse had done for him when he’d killed Gale, even though it had torn the boy up in the aftermath. Tears sprang to his eyes as the echoes of Jesse’s screams taunted him, and Walt squeezed them shut tight enough to block the pictures out, his head throbbing with the effort, but the sounds wouldn’t go away: the bed thudding against the wall, Jesse’s wrist snapping like a dry twig, the crack of the baton.

 

                He heard some talking outside of the door and Walt straightened up quickly, wiping the wetness under his glasses from his lashes and cheeks as the door opened. He turned to see a familiar-looking, stout woman peering in, her blonde curls bobbing as she shook her head in concern. She turned to look behind her and spoke to someone that Walter couldn’t see, the door still ajar as she blocked its path. When she stared back at him, there was a dawning recognition in her expression.

 

                “Mr. White? Is that really you? What are you doing here?” she asked him, and then it hit Walter where he’d seen her before. He bolted upright in his seat, glancing at Jesse guiltily. Thankfully, the kid was still asleep. Walter stood up and started for her, putting a finger to his lips as a way to keep her quiet. Once he got close enough to the door, he saw the nurse who knew Jesse stalking away from the room. Mrs. Pinkman’s eyes were drawn to her son, however.

 

                “My God, what happened?” she said in a pained voice. She put a hand to her mouth and shook her head again at Jesse’s battered countenance.

 

                “Mrs. … Mrs. Pinkman, please, let’s talk outside,” he suggested, speaking just above a whisper. “He’s unconscious right now, but we want to keep him that way for as long as we can.” He pressed a hand to her arm to turn her, but Mrs. Pinkman continued to gape and pulled away from him, wandering over to Jesse’s bedside. She stretched out a hand tentatively, letting it hover for a moment, but then eventually brushed fingertips across his head, careful to avoid the bandages. Walter came up behind her to try again.

 

                “Really, he’s only just gotten to sleep. He’s not on any pain meds, so it’s best we keep him sedated for the time being.” She didn’t move, didn’t even look in his direction. “I can explain everything, but we should talk out in the hall.”

 

                Mrs. Pinkman laid the back of her hand against Jesse’s cheek but then finally turned to him, nodded her head and followed him out. As soon as the door closed, Walter guided her over to the small vestibule by her elbow, where empty plastic chairs waited. He extended a hand to one and waited for her to take it before he sat down himself. “Um,” he began nervously. “I’m afraid Jesse was in a bit of a nasty altercation. He’s got a few broken ribs. His wrist is broken, too. But … nothing too severe,” he assured her. “Recovery is going to be a little tough for him, obviously, without the aid of some decent drugs, but … well, he’s been doing really swell up until now, so I have complete faith that he’ll get through this. You shouldn’t worry too much.”

 

                “What are you talking about?” Mrs. Pinkman asked, scrunching her eyes suspiciously. “Why won’t they give him anything for the pain? And why are you here? I didn’t quite understand why your brother-in-law thought you’d been in contact with my son back when you were missing, but then I got the call this afternoon from Sarah Lynn. She said you were the one who brought him in?” She shook her head again, in bewilderment.

 

                “I’ve been … we were in a group together,” Walter began, thinking quickly. He cleared his throat, fashioned his face into one of sheepishness. “This isn’t something I would like to have repeated, you understand, but,” and he leaned in, Mrs. Pinkman following so that their heads bent to each other conspiratorially. “We reconnected in the program.”

 

                “Program?” she echoed. “What program? I don’t understand.”

 

                “Um … a rehabilitation group. For people with addiction issues. I … developed a little gambling problem after my … well, you probably heard about my diagnosis from my brother-in-law.” Mrs. Pinkman’s eyes went wide, an understanding dawning there, and Walter made sure to push on her surprise. “Oh,” he said regretfully. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know?”

 

                “Jesse went to rehab?” Her voice was strained with the revelation.

 

                “Yes, a while ago. I thought he’d told you. He said something about seeing you recently and I take it the meeting wasn’t exactly a happy occasion.”

 

                Mrs. Pinkman shook her head, her confusion nettlesome, like a swarm of bees. “I – I didn’t know. He didn’t say anything about it. Although … Adam did point out how healthy he was looking and … well, the last time we saw him, I admit, he looked much better. If we weren’t so upset about the whole house thing, I probably would have paid more attention.” She stared into Walt’s eyes and her guilt shone there. “You’re right. It wasn’t very happy. But … I wish he would have told us. I’m – I’m sorry to hear about your troubles, Mr. White.” And she attempted a sad, but encouraging smile.

 

                “Well, I’m in remission, and – knock on wood – things are going much better, health-wise. As for the rest of it, the meetings definitely help, of course. And Jesse – he’s really working hard at his sobriety. You know, after what happened, it was a hard road for him to get clean. But he’s really turned things around. Uh, from what I gather, that is.” He worked his hands in a rolling motion as he spun his lies. “Based on his talks during group.”

 

                “ _What_ happened?” she asked. “Something happened? Does it have to do with whoever did this to him?” She swung her head back towards the room where Jesse slept.

 

                Walter let a pause hang in the air, watching her get more invested. “Well,” he began softly. “The whole Wayfarer crash. It was pretty devastating to Jesse.”

 

                Her eyes narrowed. “Those planes crashing in the sky? What could Jesse have possibly had to do with any of that?”

 

                “Nothing with the collision itself, obviously. That was more than likely due to faulty, outdated equipment. But you read the story, right? The air traffic controller said to be responsible – Donald Margolis? He was apparently in a deep state of grief over the recent death of his daughter. It was a heroin overdose,” he explained, his mouth pulling tight in that ‘gosh,so sad’ way as he shook his head at the tragedy of it. “And Jesse … well, he was involved with her.” Jesse’s mother still appeared flummoxed for a moment and Walt hammered the point home, fixing his gaze tight on hers. “He was _with her_ when it happened. Woke up to find her lying dead next to him.” He shook his head again with a sigh. “I take it … well … from what he’s said, he was very much,” he swallowed tightly around the sudden ache in his throat, “… _in love._ But, he definitely hit rock bottom after that.” He shifted in his seat, suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable with the truth of what he was saying.

 

                Mrs. Pinkman’s hand flew to her mouth again, her eyes welling up with tears. “Oh my God. How awful.” She closed her eyes, shook her head hard as her soft curls flopped around her face. “I didn’t know. We had no idea.” She sounded anguished at the discovery of her son’s troubles and Walter took a perverse satisfaction from her distress.

 

                “Well, anyway,” he continued. “That’s why he’s asked the doctor not to give him anything strong for the pain. It’s admirable, but I’m worried for him. This whole fight thing. I’ve been … spending a little time with him outside of the meetings recently,” he admitted to her, feigning a reserved embarrassment. “Just to _talk._ He’s really not a bad kid when he’s sober, you know? He’s … he _cares._ About people. The boy has a very nurt –” and for a brief second, Walter felt a little choked up. Had to pause to catch himself. “ _Nurturing_ spirit. He’s … he’s with another girlfriend. A young mother. I think she’s good for him.” He pressed his lips together in a tepid smile. “That’s why I was at his house. When I found him, that is. He was … he was pretty messed up.”

 

                “Has he said who did this? If he’s not on drugs anymore –” Something sharpened in her features. “Or, if he’s not making that horrible meth any longer, then I don’t know why he would be getting assaulted.”

 

                Walter shrugged and pretended to venture a guess. “I’m not sure. Jesse did mention recently about some shady character … some _older_ gentleman, who was giving him a hard time about not being in the racket anymore. You know, not running with the same crowd. Perhaps he was being strong-armed into dealing again? Who knows with those criminal types.”

 

                Mrs. Pinkman looked dazed, put her fingers to her temples and rubbed them. “Oh my goodness,” she sighed. “I don’t know, either. But I feel so … _awful._ I wish Jesse had just come to us with all of this.” She shut her eyes and then gave a dry laugh. “Although I understand why he didn’t. His father doesn’t even want to discuss him any longer.” She gave Walter a long, meaningful look, as if he would understand being a father himself, and then shrugged as well. “He doesn’t know I’m here. I haven’t said anything to him since I got the call. I thought it best I see Jesse on my own. Although, apparently, we were supposed to be in Germany?”

 

                “Hmm.” Walter widened his eyes and frowned but otherwise ignored the question she posed. He turned thoughtful. “Well, I think that’s wise. Jesse doesn’t need any stress right now. Not if we want him to stay clean. He needs support. And lots of rest. I think the boy has been through enough.” Walter believed what he was suggesting to Jesse’s mother, but still wondered just how soon Jesse would be capable again. Walter needed support, too, if he was going to take down Fring. Gus was out of control. And he was going to need Jesse’s help to stop the man. But in what capacity, he wasn’t sure, his brain starting to fry with ideas as their time was drawn out.

 

                “I think I’d like to go and see him for a bit,” Mrs. Pinkman was saying. “I’ll come back for a proper visit tomorrow when he’s up. But … maybe I’ll just touch base with the doctor and –”

 

                “Oh, sure, sure,” Walter soothed. “Yes, the doctor. I talked to him for quite a while. He assures me Jesse will be fine. Um, why don’t I –” and he stood up suddenly, clasping his hands together. “Why don’t I go and get you a cup of coffee or something, Mrs. Pinkman. I could use one myself. You go on and spend a little time with your son, and I’ll – I’ll leave you two alone.”

 

                “Please, it’s Tess,” she offered with a genuine smile. “Thank you, Mr. White. For taking care of my son. You always managed to see something worth motivating in him.”

 

                Walter smiled back, his tone accusatory. “Well, I tried, at any rate.” He was about to go when something tickled at him. “Um … I was just curious, if you don’t mind my asking. What exactly was the situation with the house? I was surprised when I went to see him there. It’s a very nice home. I – I saw the place before. It looks like it went through some renovations.”

 

                Mrs. Pinkman cast her eyes down to her knees. “Yes,” she sighed. “My husband and I sunk quite a bit of money into it, hoping to make a decent profit by raising the market value. Even in this economy. But … there was a loophole, I guess. And Jesse exploited it. Got that obnoxious lawyer from the tv ads – you know, the one whose face is on bus benches all over town – and they found a way to undercut us on our asking price. Adam took it quite personally. Jesse bought the house back out of spite because we had to evict him. Because of his drug use and … the illegal activity he was getting up to. My sister wanted him to have a safe place to live because she was worried about him, but … he desecrated her memory, the things he was doing there.”

 

                He nodded his head, the timing of Jesse’s purchase making perfect sense. _I’m the bad guy,_ Jesse had told him and he’d certainly made an effort at being one.

 

                “I see. Well, I’ll go get that coffee. Um, sugar and cream okay?”

 

                “That would be lovely. Thank you again, Mr. White.” Walter didn’t bother to offer his first name, but smiled tightly again as he went off in search of the cafeteria.

               

                It was as he was coming back, two Styrofoam cups of piping hot coffee gripped in each hand, that he saw Tyrus. The man’s lithe and elegant frame was slunk over the admissions desk and Walt quickly stepped back and pressed himself to a neighboring wall. He went back the way he had come with hurried steps then took a circuitous route to the elevator. He let out a long hiss as he waited for it to take him to the next floor up, pissed that he hadn’t been given more time. He would have to move Jesse right away.

 

                As soon as the elevator doors opened, Walt was walk-running to the room, still with the hot coffees now burning his hands. He stopped short when he saw Mrs. Pinkman in front of Jesse’s room talking to Dr. Gallinger and turned to dither about for a few seconds, wondering where the hell to go. He saw the men’s restrooms nearby and hurried towards it. He had just turned his body to push in the door with his back when he saw Tyrus at the other end of the hall, his expression dark as he stared at the spot where Jesse’s mother was still speaking with the doctor. Walter backed into the restroom and quickly slipped around the door to press it closed again. His breathing was erratic, his heart racing, but he was going to have to figure out a way to get him and Jesse out of the hospital immediately, sight unseen.

 

                Walter set down the coffees and brought his phone out of his pocket. He’d driven them to the emergency room in Jesse’s car, thinking that a transfer to his own vehicle, several blocks away, would have been difficult and suspicious at the time. But now there was no way they could leave in Jesse’s Tercel. They’d be spotted in an instant. Walter flipped up his phone and punched up Saul’s name.

 

 

* * *

“Okay, Walter, where am I taking you two again?”

 

                “It’s in Nob Hill. On Silver Avenue, down off of Central. The condos are right behind Morningside Park. You know, where they have the Farmer’s Market every Wednesday.”

 

                Saul’s guy sat up front in the van while Walt knelt in the back where Jesse was laid out. “Yeah, I know the area. No problemo. Shouldn’t take me more than fifteen minutes – tops. Uh, how’s he doing back there?”

 

                Jesse groaned as they went over another bump in the road. “He’ll be fine,” Walter said. “But remember, as soon as you drop us off, I need my car picked up. It’s on San Cristobel, a few blocks away from Margo Street. It’s the black Audi. I’ll give you the key, but you’ll need to empty out the trunk before you return it to the rental place. See if Saul can get me another one, in the meantime.” The Aztek had been ready to pick up for days, but he still needed to be incognito.

 

                “Yeah, sure. I’ll take care of it. What happened to your little buddy, anyway? Looks like he got the shit kicked out of him pretty good.” Kuby was still dressed in his hospital whites, having posed as an orderly in order to get Jesse out of his room, while Walter had fretted and paced in the bathroom. He’d returned to Mrs. Pinkman shortly after Tyrus disappeared from the floor, but Walter wasn’t taking any chances on being seen. As soon as Jesse’s mother had left, he and Kuby had rolled him out into the hall in a wheelchair and nonchalantly made their way down to the exit, where the van had been waiting. Saul had already informed him that Mike had been looking for him, but at least they knew Tyrus had reported the Mrs. Pinkman sighting.

 

                “Yes, well … he needs to stay out of sight for now. When we get to my place, let me go inside first and get the garage door opened. Then you can drive right in, alright? We want to do this as quickly and efficiently as possible.”

 

                By the time they got to his street, Jesse was fully awake and in plenty of pain. He moaned with every jostle, attempted to sit up a few times, but Walter kept him prone and under the blankets. As soon as they pulled into the drive way, he was out of the back doors like a shot, rushing to the door as he pulled keys from his pocket.

 

                He felt loads better once they were on the other side of the garage door, screened from any outside spies. Kuby helped him get Jesse into the house and up the stairs. He’d never actually bothered to do anything with the second bedroom, since it had come furnished for a child, and so he had Kuby put Jesse in his own bed, drawing the covers up to his neck as soon as Walt had him settled.

 

                “I’m going to get you some aspirin,” he told Jesse after Saul’s man left. “Although … if you want something stronger, there’s no shame in that, Jesse. I still have some medication left over from my surgery, if you need it. I want you to be _comfortable_ , okay?” He stood stooped by the bed, rubbing his hands together as he wondered what the next step should be. At some point, he’d have to go by the hotel and calm Junior and Skyler down. But he needed some time to think about their options.

 

                “That is one ugly painting,” Jesse commented drowsily as he scanned the wall over his head. He glanced about the room with some interest. “So this is where you’ve been living, huh?”

 

                “Well, I haven’t been here much in the last month,” Walt admitted. “Since … um, you came back from Mexico. After Gus’s threat, I had to flush out the men at my house, but I stayed there or at the car wash while Skyler and the kids were being watched over at Hank’s. I’ll keep you here for the time being. Gus knows about this address, obviously –Tyrus has been here before – but I think they’re scrambling at the moment. They are definitely keeping surveillance on the house, though.”

 

                “Just how long do you think you can hide me here, realistically?” Jesse questioned with a grimace as he attempted to sit up once more. He was still bandaged tightly around his midsection under the hospital gown he wore. They didn’t have time to get him dressed. “I mean, let’s be real, here. Gus isn’t stupid. We _know_ that. He’ll come here as soon as he finds out I’m not at the hospital anymore.” He pressed his eyes closed as he dropped to the mattress again. “You should have just left me there,” he groaned. “Gus is gonna be even more pissed at me now.”

 

                It bothered Walter the way the boy said it, as if he were a naughty child caught doing something bad. “Gus is already furious enough,” he argued. “I don’t think it matters how much _more_ homicidal the man is liable to get.” He held out his hands in disbelief at Jesse’s attitude. “He almost killed you, Jesse. And he was planning on returning to finish the job. I had to get you out of there.”

 

                Jesse stared at the ceiling. “Gus isn’t going to kill me,” he stated with confidence.

 

                “Oh, really,” Walter shot back indignantly. “You’re sure of that? Have you _looked_ at your face?”

 

                “Yeah, I felt it,” Jesse drawled. “Don’t really need to see it to get what happened. But I’m telling you, Mr. White – Gus just wanted to punish me. He’s … I don’t know … _jealous,_ I guess. That I was talking to you. He thinks I betrayed him.”

 

                “Well,” Walter interjected. “You _did_ actually betray him, so there’s that. And while you may think you have protection from being his only cook at the moment, I think we can both agree that I’m the walking example of what happens when you piss Gus off – world class cook or no. Remember Victor? He had most of the steps down just from watching our process over the course of a month. You think Gus had video cameras installed just to keep us on our toes? No, he’s got every step of the cook documented. It won’t take long before he won’t need either of us. In fact, he might even have the recipe figured out already.”

 

                Jesse studied Walt intently as he spoke, but shook his head in denial at Walt’s last suggestion. “Nah, he’s not going to do that. He wants me to train other people. To get it done right. He won’t risk a dip in quality, not with new buyers getting ready to expand his business outside of the U.S.”

 

                “What new business? And what … ‘ _training’_ does he think you’re going to be capable of doing, exactly?”

 

                Jesse glared at him. “Uh, like, you think I can’t show other people what we do? I don’t have to know the fancy terminology for everything. It ain’t brain surgery. You push some buttons, you put in your ingredients, you break up the ice. Victor was kind of right when he said it was called a cook for a reason.” He tried to sit up again but winced in pain.

 

                “Lie down. Let me get you some pain reliever and some fluids. We’ll return to this discussion in a minute.”

 

                When he came back upstairs with some Advil and a glass of water, Jesse was patting his hand around the bed’s covers, his eyes darting around in a panic. “Hey!” he called as soon as he saw Walt in the doorway. “Where’s my stuff?”

 

                “What stuff? What are you talking about? Your clothes?”

 

                “Yeah. They should have put all my things in a bag. Where is it? I’m missing something.”

 

                Walter shrugged his shoulders. “Like what? You didn’t have much on when I brought you in. You didn’t even have your shoes, Jesse.”

 

                “Whatever,” he snapped, putting his good hand to his neck. “My chain. It’s gone. They must have taken it off. Did you bring the bag or not?” he demanded, his agitation increasing.

 

                Walter set down the glass and capsules by the bedside and tucked some pillows behind Jesse so he could lean back with some support. He went to pick up a plastic bag from the floor, dropping it on Jesse’s legs, and the kid dove for it, dragging the pursed mouth wide open with his fingers as he began to dig around in it. “Since when do you start wearing jewelry?” Walt asked wryly. A brief shot of Jesse’s nude body suddenly inserted itself into Walter’s thoughts, the piercings he’d seen on Jesse’s chest and genitals adding to his shock in the moment. He hadn’t really taken Jesse to be the type.

 

                “Since Gus gave it to me. I need to have it on when he sees me again.”

 

                “What the hell are you talking about? You’re not going anywhere near Gus. Not with the way he is right now.” Walt was getting more and more concerned about Jesse’s insistence on appeasing the man. “And since when is he giving you _presents?”_ What the hell kind of deal was this?

 

                Jesse wouldn’t look at him but kept his eyes fixed to the inside of the bag, his jaw working side to side. “It was just the one thing, okay? Not like you need to know. But if I don’t have it on me, it’ll only set him off again.” He threw the bag back on the floor with a deep sigh. “And I’m gonna have to go to him, alright? It’s the only way to calm him down.”

 

                Walter was stymied by the boy’s foolhardiness, his notion to simply walk right back into the danger sounding unlike him. He sat down on the edge of the bed and attempted to reason with Jesse, pressing a hand to the covers where the boy’s legs lay. “Jesse, you’re not thinking clearly. Let’s break this down, okay? We need to make a plan, I agree. But sending you back into the lion’s den is not the way to go. I – I need to come up with a way to get the bomb on Gus’s car. Create a diversion of some sort. We – we might be able to use you for bait, but only from afar.”

 

                Eyes darted to his face but then quickly shifted to look elsewhere. “That’s not going to work,” Jesse said flatly. “Gus is on to you. Just how the hell do you think you’re gonna get anywhere _near_ his car, let alone getting a _bomb_ on it. Jesus.” He shook his head with a weary conviction. “Nah, this is the only thing that’ll work, Mr. White. If you want your family to stay safe, I’m going to have to make contact.”

 

                But Walter was adamant, grabbing hold of Jesse’s arm. “Jesse, listen to me. This is _not_ a good idea. We’ll think of another way.” He struggled to put his objections into terms that wouldn’t embarrass either of them. “I mean … let’s look at this objectively.” He put his hands up like a referee calling a foul. “The man is on a rampage. He’s incredibly dangerous right now. You going back to … _attempt_ some sort of, I don’t know what … another deal? Some kind of trade-off? I mean, Jesse, what the hell were you thinking?”

 

                Still glaring at the end of the bed, Jesse clenched his jaw as he ground teeth together. He swallowed visibly before answering with as much patience as the kid could muster. “I’m … _trying_ … to keep us all _alive,_ okay? I need to explain to Gus that … it’s not what he thinks.” He finally dared a glance in Walt’s direction. “We need to make him believe that I had _nothing_ to do with you going to see Hector. You feelin’ me?”

 

                “And that is going to accomplish, what, exactly? Buy us some time? Keep him from hunting down me and my family? I have no idea where you’re going with this, Jesse. You’ve been through a traumatic experience and, consequently, you’re not hearing me very well. We need to limit your involvement,” he reiterated.

 

                “No, you’re not hearing _me._ Gus will want me back. Trust me. I can negotiate for everyone’s safety once I convince him that he was _mistaken._ He’ll be pissed that you know about Hector, but no harm, no foul, right? Nothing really happened. He doesn’t even know what you were planning. You can just say you were searching for information, for a weakness. You don’t even have to talk to Gus. Just tell Mike. If you and your family go somewhere for a little while then maybe I can get him in a better mood. And a _bomb_ … isn’t the answer … here.”

 

                Walter pressed fingers under his glasses and to his eyelids again, another aggrieved sigh escaping him. He wasn’t getting anywhere with the boy. Gus had screwed with Jesse’s head alright. “So, what then? How are we supposed to get rid of him once you’re … back in his good graces. Just what do you propose to do, Jesse? And I’m not going anywhere,” he growled. “I’m not running. I’ve sent Hank away. And I can send my family somewhere out of state, if I have to. But I’m staying right here.”

 

                “Yeah, well, you sent your brother-in-law to probably the worst place he could go outside of the ABQ. I don’t even know if he’s safe there, honestly. Gus’s boss is, like, right in the same city.”

 

                “What are you talking about? I thought Gus’s boss was the man heading the cartel that he just decimated.” A detail from Jesse’s relaying of the event suddenly popped up into Walter’s brain, like a firefly at dusk.

 

                “No. That guy had a say in where Gus’s territory was, but he didn’t give him the money for the lab. That was some other dude. Who works at a company based out of Germany. Apparently, he and Gus go way back. Mike said this company has holdings in Los Pollos.”

 

                Something sparked in Walter’s memory. “Madrigal Electromotive,” he repeated from Hank’s speech.

 

                “Yeah. How’d you know?” Jesse asked with widened eyes.

 

                “Hank. He made the connection. Through Gale Boetticher.”

 

                “Seriously?” Jesse seemed impressed. “Well, if he knew that much, he could have made some, like, connection to Hector, right? And then told you about it? Like, he found out about the chicken ranch and the laundry and made you take him right to those places, so … it stands to reason that he could have dug into the cartel business, too, don’t you think? I mean, they already knew Hector was an old school gangster. They had his rap when they brought him in to spook me. Schrader had a hard-on ‘cause he thought Hector was gonna roll on me. Instead, the dude shit all over the floor. Like, diarrhea bad.” Jesse shuddered at the recollection. “It was disgusting, but I’m pretty sure they got the message.”

 

                He tried to humor Jesse. “Okay. So … we get, or rather, _you_ get Gus to believe that I had discovered this bit of news through Hank. And now he’s placated – for the time being – and everything settles down. Just what do you think is going to happen? He’s going to let you go back to cooking peacefully? I mean, Jesse … ” Once again, he looked for the right words to express just what he’d witnessed, an exasperated sound in his throat. He couldn’t believe Jesse was putting him in this position, but the boy seemed to be conveniently forgetting what Gus had just done to him. Or avoiding it. He held out his hands in appeal to Jesse’s sense of injustice. “ _Son_ ,” he began. “Gus is dangerous. To you. He … I mean, for God’s sake … he _raped you._ ” There. It was out. They would have to deal with it.

 

                Instantly, Jesse reacted, bolting up straight with his fists to the mattress as his eyes turned wild. His jaw clenched again and he glared at Walt murderously.

 

                “ _What_? No he didn’t.”

 

                Walt tried to hold Jesse’s gaze but the boy turned away, trying to put holes through his dresser with his stare. “ _Jesse_. Look at me.” But Jesse refused, shaking his head at the wall.

 

                “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he insisted, his voice shaky. “I ain’t some chick, alright. This isn’t no Lifetime movie-of-the-week.”

 

                “I know what I saw,” he declared. This was getting ridiculous.

 

                That drew a heated response and finally, Jesse turned to him, his anger ignited. “You didn’t see _anything,_ alright,” he snarled. “You don’t know … you don’t understand Gus, okay?”

 

                Walter was aghast. “Oh, and you do? You think you have some _deep_ connection to this monster? Weren’t you the one who told me Gus was _evil?_ Jesse, what kind of game do you think you can play with this man? You’re clearly out of your depth in this situation.”

 

                Jesse’s eye flinched but he stayed determined. “I know what he wants, alright? And I’ve been playing the game just fine. Your ass is still alive, isn’t it? No matter how much you’re trying to get it shot.”

 

                “And what exactly do you think it is that he wants? To control you? To have you as some … _plaything?_ I can’t even imagine how this all started.” He pinged fingers off his temples in a daze, feeling completely lost at how he was supposed to get through to Jesse.

 

                There was a groan as Jesse pressed a hand to his side, his teeth bared. He closed his eyes for a moment, but then stared at his knees, his anger deflating as something accepting settled in his expression. “Look … I don’t really want to have this conversation, Mr. White. Just trust me when I tell you that Gus is going to want me back. He won’t kill me. He’s …” Jesse tightened his jaw again. “He’d rather have me alive.”

 

                “Oh, I’m sure,” Walt said sarcastically. Jesse squeezed his eyes shut again, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and Walter made another attempt, softening his voice. “I saw the bruises on you, Jesse. This has been going on for a while, hasn’t it?” He wanted to shake Jesse. He would never have asked the boy to do such a thing and he resented the guilt now dumped on his shoulders. Of course, it had never really occurred to him, either, not having the slightest inclination where Gus’s true interests led.

 

                “It doesn’t matter,” Jesse stated in an affected voice. “That’s just his thing.” Eyes shot to his face then quickly looked away. “He gets his jollies on … inflicting pain or whatever.” Legs under the comforter started to jiggle. “I told you, the guy did some crazy shit back in Chile. His history is totally fucked up. His people … they were pretty messed up, too. The whole thing with Hector and Don Eladio – it goes way back. Gus has been holding a grudge since they murdered his … his _lover.”_ Jesse flashed another glance in his direction, but continued nervously as he licked his lips. “His boyfriend, whatever. Gus’s wife knew about the guy. They were like … I don’t know. But …” Jesse scanned the ceiling as if he sought answers there. “It’s not just you that needs protection, Mr. White. I got people of my own I’m trying to take care of, and now, Gus knows about them, too. I can … I can _deal,_ okay?” His voice cracked. “I – I can do this.”

 

                “No, Jesse, you c _an’t,_ ” Walt stressed as he waved a hand towards Jesse. “You’re a mess. Broken bones? Some kind of warped sexual slavery? Just how long do you think this can go on?”

 

                “I’m not giving up, okay?!” Jesse yelled. “It’s gonna be easier for us to take Gus out if I’m close to him, don’t you think? I mean, I’ve been giving it some thought. An explosion isn’t just going to be messy it’s going to be big giant red flare to law enforcement. We go that route and everything gets cracked wide open. But if we do it on the down low, like we originally planned, then we got a whole network already waiting for us.”

 

                “Okay. You lost me.” Walter was more concerned with Jesse’s apparent Stockholm Syndrome and he threw up his hands as he waited for Jesse to explain his insane plan.

 

                “Think about it. Do you have any idea just how big Gus’s business really is? And it’s about to get bigger. We’re talking a lot of money, Mr. White. All there for the taking. No more of this piddly million and a half shit. But it can only work if we make it look like an accident.”

 

                    Walter was now completely confounded. “And just what do you think is going to happen to Gus’s business once he’s gone?” he asked. _A business big enough to be listed on the NASDAQ goes belly up._ He recalled his screed to Skyler with vivid clarity. _I’m not IN danger, Skyler, I AM the danger!_  

                  

                “He’s setting me up to handle it,” Jesse said, his eyes lighting up. “He wants to introduce me to the head honcho. Already has me on staff in his restaurant chain. I’ll be dealing with every store; I’ll know every route, paying off inspectors and shit. I’m, like, _in,_ you know what I’m saying? I’ve had an intro to the new cartel guys that Gus wants to do business with and they fucking love me. Even Mike thinks he’s grooming me for, like, taking over.”

 

                “What … the hell … are _you_ talking about?” The boy had clearly lost his mind.

 

                Jesse gawked back excitedly, looking straight into his face. “We can have it all. We just need to plan this out right. I told you before. I think Gus’s ticker is bad. He’s got prescriptions, so that means he’s been to the doctor. He keels over dead and nobody suspects anything, sky’s the limit.”

 

                Walter crossed his arms. “And what exactly do you think you’re going to have to do for Gus to make this happen?” He got a disturbing picture of Jesse in his mind. _I’ll suck your cock, if you want. Just how you like._ He tried not to shudder with revulsion.

 

                Jesse eyes turned to slits, but they stayed locked on Walter. “Nothing I haven’t done already.”

He shook his head, incredulous. In a crazy way, what Jesse was suggesting held enormous appeal, but he couldn’t for the life of him understand how Jesse could willingly go back to the man and submit to him. “And you think that Gus isn’t going to tire of you, eventually?” he said knowingly.

 

                That made Jesse avert his gaze, but he grew pensive, seemed to consider something as he cast his eyes to the ceiling again. He exhaled loudly, the sigh snaking out of him in a long gust and shook his head in disbelief again. “Well,” he started with some sarcasm in his tone. “Let’s just say that … I doubt that will be happening any time soon.”

 

                “The man almost beats you to death, but you seem to think that all it will take is a little convincing that you were _true_ to him and he’s going to –what? – welcome you back with open arms? Like you said, Gus isn’t stupid. He’ll no longer trust you. You won’t get anywhere with this tactic. It’s a dead end.”

 

                Jesse had raised a leg and started bouncing his heel on the mattress, making Walter want to stand up and get away from the boy’s restlessness. But he didn’t move, just kept his arms across his chest in paternal judgment.

 

                “ _Oh my God,”_ Jesse muttered to himself. “Look,” he said testily. “The dude is like … I don’t know, he’s like _in love_ with me, okay? It’s gonna work.”

 

                The laugh came out of Walter suddenly and harshly, the ridiculousness of the moment having reached its peak. " _In love?"_ he mocked in scorn. Instantly, he knew it was the wrong move to have made, as Jesse’s expression went from exasperated to wounded, to resentful all in the space of a second.

 

                “Yeah, I know,” he sneered with a throat full of gravel. “Who would love me, right? A pathetic … junkie … _loser_ like me.” Jesse’s eyes shimmered, that wet look as tears gathered affecting Walter before he could respond to Jesse’s regurgitation of that long-ago rant. “Hard to believe, isn’t it? But you don’t know him like I do.”

 

                Walter reached towards him, immediately contrite. “Son, I didn't mean it like that, I’m _sorry –_ ”

 

                “I’m not your son,” Jesse cut in. “I was your _partner._ I thought the plan was to make some money, here. Or have you forgotten? Sky high stacks, right? Well, it’s right here, in our hands. I’m just asking you to put that big brain of yours to work and think of something smart that isn’t, like, blowing up old, defenseless people, or getting Gus pissed off again. Think you can do that?”

 

                Wiping his hands over his face, Walter rubbed under his glasses and breathed hard through his nose. There wasn’t any way to reach Jesse in this matter. He reached over to the pills on the nightstand, scooping them up and offering them to Jesse with the glass of water. The firefly of an idea came back to him as he tried to redirect his focus on their best course of action.

 

                “Fine. So then, tell me about the visit with the cartel in Mexico. Specifically, the poison that Gus took. And don't spare anything, give me as much detail as you can ….”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that last chapter touched off quite a response. I'm honestly not sure how many more chapters the story will need. It might go beyond 36 if I can't break up the remaining action organically. Sometimes, conversations go on longer then you expected, you know? Thanks for everyone's feedback.


	34. The Plan

 

_Well, then insist on it, damnit! Act panicked! Gus’s ass is on the line here. And trust me, he will meet with you if he thinks that you’re a liability._

 

 _No, he will waste me if he thinks I’m a liability_.

 

 

                There was a gentle buzz in his coat pocket and Gus reached in to grab for his phone. He snapped it open and held it to his ear without even looking at the face, expecting to hear Mike’s or Tyrus’s voice on the other end with an update.

 

                “Yes? Tell me.”

 

                It was quiet for a second, then a heavy breath. He heard the familiar husky voice. “It’s me.”

 

                Gus froze in his tracks, standing in the garage of his house. The dinging from his car door being wide open distracted him and he slammed it shut with the nudge of a few fingers. “Where are you?”

 

                “Don’t get mad again, okay?” Jesse started softly. “I’m – he’s got me at his apartment. The condo. He’s just spooked, alright? He doesn’t know anything; he was just fishing. He came over after you left. Got in the house and … you know, saw me.”

 

                “He is finished. I have had enough of Walter’s meddling,” Gus began coldly. He was done with the man. No more chances.

 

                “Gus, wait,” Jesse interrupted. “He was just trying to help, okay? He took me to the hospital. I couldn’t really fight him, you know? I was a little out of it. I wake up in a hospital bed, they knock me out again, and the next thing I know, I’m at his place. I don’t even know how he got me here.”

 

                “I am sending Mike over there right now. You will come to my house. No arguments. I will _deal_ with Walter and you will just have to accept this.”

 

                “Gus, come on! I’m telling you, the guy doesn’t know anything. He’s got no plan, alright? It’s all, like, a shot in the dark. Totally random move. You don’t have to kill him. Give him a slap him on the wrist if you have to, but just leave him alive and I’ll come back willingly. Look, I’ll do whatever you want, Gus. I’m all yours, okay? I didn’t ask for him to come running to my rescue, he just showed up. Just come and get me, and Walt will stay out of your business, I promise. I – I talked to him a bit. I told him I’m fine; that I want to stay with you.”

 

                “And what did he say to that?” Gus sneered.

 

                “Who cares what he thinks? He’s out, right? The dude is just scared. He’s still convinced you’re gonna show up and murder his whole family. I told him I’d – well, I’d give him some money so he can go somewhere with them where you’ll never have to hear from Walter again.”

 

                “Why does he need your money? He was paid handsomely.” Gus went back through the door leading into the house and sailed into the dining room. His mind was reeling from the dump of emotions currently running through him, but he focused on action as Jesse talked. He was eager to get Mike on his way. He wanted Jesse back in his house as soon as possible. For a split second, he considered getting in his car and driving to Walter’s himself to collect the boy, but seeing the man’s face would only send him into a violent rage again.

 

                “I don’t know what he spent it on, but I guess he’s having issues with the wife or whatever. It doesn’t matter. He’s still here ‘cause he’s broke. Let me pay him off and then he won’t bother us again. I give you my word, Gus. Just come and get me and then it can all go back to the way it was before.”

 

                Gus stopped moving. He stood in his kitchen and took a deep breath. It was imperative that he see Jesse; see the damage. As his anger had waned, his concern had grown. He had hurt the boy more than he’d meant to. His temper was his curse, like a fire consuming him. It had almost been a relief when Tyrus reported back from the hospital where Jesse was staying. But it had been disturbing to hear that the young man’s mother had shown up. That did not sound like something Walter would have orchestrated and it put some doubt in his mind.

 

                There was a long pause as Gus reviewed his strategy. He wasn’t sure that he believed Jesse’s insistence that Walter had simply found Hector randomly; that there hadn’t been colluding between the two men. He had seen Jesse play crafty when he wanted to manipulate a situation. But Gus also knew in his heart that he wanted Jesse back, wanted Jesse in his bed, and wanted to be able to forgive him, whatever the boy had done. Jesse wasn’t the only one who wanted things to go back to the way they were before.

 

                “Mike will be there soon. I will be waiting for you when you arrive here.” Gus disconnected the line and pressed the phone to his lips for a moment, wondering just what he was doing, if he wasn’t making a grand mistake. Then he scrolled to Mike’s name and hit the button.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_An hour earlier_

                “Okay, so … they all started dropping at the same time, correct?” Walter had pulled up a seat next to Jesse’s bedside as they went over the details again while Jesse munched on the peanut butter and jelly sandwich Walt had made for him. “You said that the biggest guy went down and in the space of a second or two you saw another man drop. And the one in charge – the Don – he started ailing at around the exact moment, before he dropped into the pool. And everyone drank the tequila together, right?”

 

                “Yeah. They were making a toast to celebrate Gus coming back to the flock. Eladio gave me a shot, too, but Gus wouldn’t let me have any. I thought he was being serious about my staying sober. It totally freaked me out when they started keeling over.”

 

                “Hmm.” Walter rubbed at his goatee. “I’m guessing cyanide, then. Weight, height, health – those variables didn’t seem to factor into how quickly the poison took effect on each person. You said it was about ten, fifteen minutes or so between them drinking and then reacting, right? So, there are few poisons that fast-acting. Cyanide or arsenic, most likely, but the former is a lot easier to acquire. You didn’t describe anyone foaming at the mouth, or having convulsions, which would be the tell-tale signs of strychnine poisoning. Cyanide essentially puts someone into cardiac arrest. The red blood cells stop receiving oxygen and the victim asphyxiates internally, which is as terrible as it sounds. The Germans used cyanide pills during World War Two. Spies who were captured behind enemy lines gave themselves a quick death before they could be tortured into giving information. It’s also how Hitler and Eva Braun committed suicide.”

 

                “Wow, seriously?” Jesse put down his half eaten sandwich. “That’s fucked up.” He cast his gaze to his plate in contemplation. “So, how come Gus didn’t drop dead with them?”

 

                “Didn’t you say you saw him taking something by the pool before the men even came out? It was most likely activated charcoal, in a capsule form. It would have absorbed enough of the poison that it gave him some time to get to that hospital tent. He might have also taken an emetic – like ipecac, although that wouldn’t have worked well with the charcoal - causing him to vomit up a fair amount of the poison before it did too much damage to his system. But … make no mistake. It would have done some damage. Especially to his heart. Victims can also suffer from brain damage.”

 

                Jesse’s eyebrows wrinkled together as he reflected on the information, his expression deeply serious. “So … his _brain_ could be affected, too?”

 

                “And the central nervous system. But we don’t know what kind of treatment he received. You said he was up the next day. Walked six miles through the desert? That would have been taxing on even a healthy person. The fact that he didn’t have a heart attack en route suggests that Gus was in peak physical condition before he ingested the poison.”

 

                “Yeah, dude is ripped,” Jesse commented airily before catching himself, glancing back at Walt with his mouth opened in embarrassment. “I mean, uh, you know, I noticed that he’s … like he works out a lot. Has a gym and everything. He made me go running with him. To get my mind off my addiction, and whatnot.”

 

                “Okay,” Walt said, not wanting to dwell on that scenario. “So he’s still managing to stay fit … you said you found several bottles in his medicine cabinet, correct? If he’s been to the doctor for a heart condition, I’m assuming the visit was recent; since you’ve been back. But if this was a prior ailment then that’s only going to be better for us. We’ll only have one shot at this, Jesse. Now, we have a few options on what we can use that will induce cardiac arrest, but won’t necessarily be immediately evident. The coroner isn’t likely to do a toxicology report on a man that was being treated for heart problems if the body presents as a heart attack victim. But the delivery method … that’s going to be tricky.”

 

                “Isn’t it always?” Jesse said through a mouthful of food.

 

                “We can’t risk raising his suspicion again. Neither one of us will be able to contact each other until after it’s over. Do you understand? This has to be done right. I wouldn’t suggest putting something in his wine again. You said he was … _difficult_ after that; that he acted like he knew something was wrong, so let’s not go back to the well. And looking for opportunities to put the poison into his food is equally risky.” Walter mulled over the various chemicals they could use, each involving a different set of risks for Jesse. He held up a finger, reviewing each item’s benefit aloud. “There was that case of the nurse who killed his patients with potassium chloride. The Angel of Death, they called him. Potassium chloride is what they use in lethal injection. But during an autopsy, the increased potassium would be noticed and we don’t know exactly what medication Gus is taking, nor do we have time to find out. The potassium levels are pretty closely monitored in heart patients and in some cases would be prescribed for high blood pressure, but this isn’t from Gus eating too many cheeseburgers or a high sodium diet. This is a direct effect of the poison he ingested.” He shrugged. “And it would take at least forty-eight hours for traces of it to disappear from the body.”

 

                “Okay, so what else, then?”

 

                Walter sighed. “Aconite? It’s deadly and quick. Accessible, too. It’s from the root of a plant called monkshood, or wolfsbane, as it’s been referred to in folklore. Or – ” He side-eyed Jesse imagining what the kid could realistically manage. “There was a case of a woman murdered by her husband with a lethal dose of succinylcholine. It’s a common muscle relaxant. The autopsy showed myocardial infarction – in other words, her heart stopped. The needle mark was overlooked during the first sweep.”

 

                Jesse’s eyes went big. He dropped the crusts of his sandwich and swallowed with some difficulty. “Needles?” He picked up his plate and set it down on the nightstand, the other half untouched. “Um, can we do it some other way?”

 

                Walter mused on the many furtive ways they could administer whichever drug he was able to get, but ultimately, it no longer mattered if Gus was fooled. Jesse just needed to make sure he was successful. He wished he still had access to the types of chemicals he’d worked with at the Sandia labs, and chuckled to himself as he recalled a few old stories. “Back in the 70’s, the CIA had developed a gun that enabled them to _shoot_ a poison into a victim and cause an immediate heart attack. They actually froze it and shaped it into a dart. It would pierce the victim through their clothes and skin and dissolve into the body in seconds. They even showed off the gun and explained how it worked during the Church Committee hearings. Can you imagine?”

 

                “Isn’t that what happened with that Soviet guy that was assassinated from ricin,” Jesse asked.

 

                “Markov? No, that was the pellet in the tip of the umbrella. Umbrellas were big during the Cold War, in terms of getting a poison into your intended victim. Obviously, it’s getting harder to poison people without it being detected, in this day and age of advanced forensic investigation. But when it comes to assassinations, it’s the men who are targeted that inspire the digging for evidence that otherwise may have gone unnoticed. Slobodan Milošević, the former President of Yugoslavia, was apparently poisoned by being given medicine for leprosy. He was being imprisoned at The Hague, awaiting trial for war crimes against the people of Croatia and Bosnia during the 90’s –oh, and what’s the other place?” He snapped his fingers. “Kosovo. Anyway, he’d sent a letter to a confidante complaining that he was being slowly poisoned and should be immediately transferred to the Russians, and then a few days later he was found dead of a supposed heart attack in his cell. It turned out, the medicine for leprosy had a neutralizing effect on his heart medication thereby exacerbating his condition until it brought on the infarction.” Walter grinned back at Jesse, always impressed by the know-how and creativity to be found in history.

 

                Jesse stared back at him balefully. “Oh, I’m sorry, is this, like, fun for you? Does plotting to kill someone giving you a boner, or something?”

 

                Walter’s grin dropped as he sat up straighter. “Of course _not._ I’m merely suggesting that Gus, being seen as the simple, unassuming fast food owner and operator that he likes to project, won’t inspire much investigating. Who would be targeting him, as far as the community is concerned? Mike and his cretins are another matter, but the more mundane we can make the … event surrounding his death, the more likely we’ll be in the clear.” He held out his hands. “Gus lives alone, has no one coming to see him on a regular basis … other than _you.”_ He reconsidered the potassium chloride idea. Jesse could arrange to have Gus locked up in the house for a few days after it was done, giving the compound time to dissipate. “If you can inject him with the potassium in a patch of skin that is easily overlooked, then no one will be the wiser.”

 

                “Well, how the hell am I gonna do that?” Jesse cried, getting himself worked up again. “Like, _Gus, hey, can you just lie here a sec while I stick a needle in your neck?_ Duh. That’s a stupid idea.”

 

                He wagged a finger at Jesse. “Actually, that’s a good spot, now that you mention it. Right at the base of the skull, at the top of his spine,” and he brushed at the back of his own neck to illustrate the ideal area. “No one is likely to look there.”

 

                “Seriously, like, how do you expect me to do that?”

 

                Walter had the unpleasant thought that the best way for it to work might be post-coital, but he didn’t want to voice such a thing to Jesse. “Um … I would say when he’s sleeping,” he said with abashment, trying to avoid Jesse’s eyes. He cleared his throat. “You know, probably after a rigorous … well. Um, if say, something were to get his heart rate up before he, you know … passed out from exhaustion.”

 

                Jesse’s expression turned venomous. “You’d better not be suggesting what I think you’re suggesting,” he threatened.

 

                His hands went up again, protesting his innocence. “I’m not suggesting anything other than that physical exertion would be beneficial to facilitate this stage of the plan. Didn’t you just finish saying he works out a lot? You go running with the man!”

 

                The boy put his hands up to his face, with a heavy exhale. “I don’t know, Mr. White. I can’t exactly go for a jog in this condition. And we don’t got the time for me to heal. The sooner this happens, the better.”

 

                “Okay, say we find a way to sedate him first. Make sure he’s unconscious. Regular sleeping pills from over-the-counter, that wouldn’t be unusual for a man with as many responsibilities as he has.”

 

                “So now we’re back to spiking his food again,” Jesse countered, his irritation returning.

 

                Walter was getting equally aggravated by the discussion as it went round and round in circles. “Look, just find something that you know Gus really likes. A favorite food, or his morning cup of coffee, perhaps. Something that he has every day without fail. Is there anything that he enjoys eating all the time?”

 

                Jesse glared at the wall in front of him, his plastered arm across his chest. “Well,” he started off in his most sarcastic tone, his pitch rising with every syllable. “We could always put it … up _…_ my _… ass._ ‘Cause he definitely loves eating that.”

 

                Walter sat frozen, his mouth hanging open as he gaped at Jesse in complete mortification. That was way too much information for Walter to bear. “ _Uhhhh,”_ he intoned like a phone off its cradle, before snapping his mouth shut. He cleared his throat again. “Well, um, I’m sure you can figure something out.” He looked around the floor at his feet, feeling flustered as he tried to find something to fixate on. “Anyway, uh … I should, uh, get …” he snapped eyes to Jesse’s discarded food. “I’ll take this to the kitchen,” he said, standing up in a hurry and reaching for the plate. He was halfway across the room when he stopped in his tracks, a thought suddenly occurring to him. “You know, that’s not even our biggest hurdle. I have to find a way to get this to you. We’re going to need a third party,” he explained. “I suppose we could ask Saul to get someone to play courier. Or …” He stalled again, not sure if he should continue.

 

                “Or what?” Jesse demanded to know.

 

                “Well … your girlfriend. If I could get the needle to her, Gus wouldn’t be suspicious were you to stop by to see them, right?”

 

                Instantly, Jesse’s face darkened. “Uh-uh, no way, man. We’re not using Andrea. I’m not putting her or Brock in any more danger. It’s bad enough that Gus knows who they are.”

 

                Walt tried not to think about how close he’d come to poisoning that little boy with a plant from his backyard. And now he was considering aconite to finish off his enemy. He was starting to feel more like a turn-of-the-century apothecary than a chemist with a Masters degree, turning herbal roots into deadly tools of his trade. Meth and murder seemed to go hand in hand, and now he was turning his partner into a modern day Graham Young.

 

                “TI-81,” he uttered aloud, another spark going off in his head.

 

                “Huh?”

 

                He turned to Jesse, his embarrassment forgotten. “TI-81. Thallium. It’s a soft metal, but it can be dissolved into a salt. And it is highly toxic. Thallium was discovered, and named, by William Crookes and Claude-Augustus Lamy in the late 1800s. So named from the Greek word, _thallos,_ meaning green shoot or twig, which described the green spectral line that runs through it. These days it’s mostly produced for the electronics industry: pharmaceuticals, glass-making. The radioisotope thallium-201 is used in small amounts for nuclear scans and cardiac testing. But back in the thirties, as a salt compound, the element was mostly used in rat poisons, and came to be considered as the poisoner’s poison, because of how frequently it was associated with homicides. There were at least five cases that went to trial in that decade alone. They finally banned it in the US in the fifties.” He looked back at the window, his mind still whirring, harkening back to his laboratory days. “But really … it’s a chemist’s poison. Chemistry engineers are about the only people who could get their hands on it these days.” He paused, suddenly remembering a news story he’d read a while ago, before his diagnosis. “There was a chemist in Florida, actually, back in the eighties. He killed his neighbor with it, made three others sick, by putting it in their Coca-Cola. He was angry that they made too much noise. I guess he had some mental issues. I remember … he already had a criminal past. He had been convicted as the chief chemist for a methamphetamine lab,” he said unironically. The periodic table ran around in his head like a deck of cards being exploded into the air. He ticked through his beloved elements, as familiar as the names of his children, and saw a comforting diagram form of the way they connected and worked together, developing a pattern like the grid of electricity lighting up a city in garish neon colors. It was like seeing science represented by Vegas or Tokyo.

 

                “Uh, gee, thanks for the chemistry lesson, Mr. White, but we ain’t in class anymore. What the hell does any of this have to do with Gus? Are you telling me you can get your hands on some of this stuff?”

 

                “Thallium, in its plus one oxidized state, resembles potassium, and its ions can be found in potassium-based ores. They both affect living cells in much the same way,” he continued to lecture, now following a thread. “It is highly aqueous and soluble, which means thallium can be absorbed through the skin, but … it is also virtually tasteless and odorless.”

 

                He fell silent, deep in thought, and after a pause Jesse threw up his hands. “Hello? Where are you going with this, Mr. White?”

 

                “Thallium is connected to potassium in certain forms. Potassium hydroxide can be treated with hydrochloric acid, something we use every day. KOH plus HCl and you’ve got potassium chloride.”

 

                “Whoa, wait a minute,” Jesse interrupted. “Hold on. You’re – you’re not suggesting that I … like, put Gus in a _barrel_ , are you?” he asked with a growing horrified expression. “ ‘Cause I won’t – I can’t do that.”

 

                Walter shook his head, the numbers and letters atomizing in his head. “No. That would defeat the purpose of leaving him looking like a heart attack victim, wouldn’t it? A disappearance would invite an investigation. Gus isn’t a Victor. The man is a pillar of his community.”

 

                “So, what do we do? What am I supposed to do with him? We’re running out of time, Mr. White. Gus is gonna be busting down that door any minute and we’re still dicking around here.”

 

                He flinched at Jesse’s choice of expression, but turned to face him with a calm demeanor. “Let me ask you something,” he said, his curiosity suddenly getting the best of him. “Why did you have a key?”

 

                “What? What key?”

 

                “To the handcuffs,” Walter explained. “You were in possession of the key to unlock them. Were they _yours?”_ He knew it was a loaded question, but he needed to know the extent of what was going on between the two men.

The boy turned prickly. “So what if they were. I got them for my girlfriend, alright?”

 

                The answer surprised him. Andrea had come across to him as a strong young woman. “Oh. Okay.” But it still bothered him. “Then how did Gus … how did he know you happened to have a pair in your bedside drawer?” Had the boy shared with him a secret penchant for bondage?

 

                Jesse studied Walter with some dubiousness. “The surveillance,” he finally hissed. “It wasn’t just bugs in the wall.” He turned his face towards the door, away from Walt. “He had a camera installed in my room, watching me. Watching _us_ , whenever she came over.”

 

                Walter was sorry for asking. “I see,” he commented, feeling more disturbed, but even more resolved to their next course of action. Yet, at the same time, he was energized and almost _happy_ – happy to have Jesse here in this room, the two of them together again figuring things out, like old times. “Well … I think I know what we need to do.” He set the plate down on his dresser, before leaning over to put his hands at the end of the bed. “Now, you need to listen very carefully, Jesse ….”

 

               

 

* * *

 

                “Uh-huh. I understand. I should have him there within the hour, providing I don’t have to shoot Walter in the head.”

 

                Mike huffed into the phone as Gus went over his directions again. “Yeah, that was a joke. But not really,” he offered caustically. Walter had become a colossal pain in his ass. “I’m not too far from Walter’s condo now. I told you we should have had surveillance on the place. I don’t trust that man as far as I can throw him down a well.” He glanced at his transponder sitting in its briefcase silently. “Tyrus is waiting at the house. We don’t know where the wife and kids were sent, but I’m pretty sure they never left Albuquerque. Probably in one of the hotels we checked out, under an assumed name. But I don’t have the resources to hit them all up for a search. Do we need to?”

 

                “No, never mind them. Just bring the boy here as soon as you have him,” Gus said. “But first … I need you to go by his place. Make sure that everything is … where it should be. He’ll need a suitcase filled with some of his clothes. Just a few basics. Don’t worry about toiletries. What did you find out from the hospital?”

 

                “Not a whole lot. Walter absconded with him at some point, obviously, but I don’t know yet if he had any help. We did get confirmation that he brought him in, posing as his uncle. What the kid’s diagnosis was, though, I couldn’t tell you. He was slated to be discharged in the morning, so it couldn’t have been anything too extreme.”

 

                “Good. Don’t let Walter provoke you. Just bring Jesse to me.” To Mike’s ears, Gus sounded uncharacteristically excited and just a little out of breath.

 

                “Will do. I’ll let you know when we’re on our way there.” He dropped the phone on the car seat and started the engine, turning out of the parking lot with a squeal of the tires.

 

                When he got to Jesse’s house, he pulled out the spare key he’d had made and let himself in. It was faster than picking the lock every time. The living room appeared untouched – a discarded cereal bowl left on the glass table and an ashtray loaded with butts notwithstanding. He briefly checked the kitchen before heading upstairs. A large butcher knife sat ominously on Jesse’s island. Mike glanced at the back door. It was closed but he went over to check it anyway, and discovered it was unlocked. Luckily, no one had bothered to rob Jesse while he was gone. Mike secured the door and then trod to the stairwell, peering up to the next floor before putting a foot on the first step. His ears were automatically attuned to any disturbance, yet the house was as quiet as a tomb but for the scraping of his footsteps.

 

                Once he turned on the light in Jesse’s bedroom, he went still, taking in the evidence of whatever had happened there. Jesse’s jeans lay on the floor like the taped outline of a dead body, the legs turned inside out. Mike moved closer to the bed, noticed the blood on the sheets right away. Handcuffs still hung from a bedpost, the rotating arm from the bottom half left open. The bed had been pulled from the wall by several inches. He huffed across the room the sound like billowing steam from a train’s chute. He was too old for this. Mike was tired of being confronted with the worst in everyone.

 

                He stepped over to the closet door and opened it up, peeking into the dark corners and the top shelf for a suitcase. The kid didn’t even own one. He’d have to hunt through the downstairs closet or use a garbage bag, but in the meantime, he began pulling hangers from the rod and throwing the least offensive articles of clothing he could find and tossing them flat on the bed. When he had enough of a pile he stepped back to collect them, but noticed something glinting in amongst the crumpled bed sheets. Reaching down to push back a blood soaked pillow, he saw a gold chain lying in a puddle and picked it up. The clasp was broken, and Mike stared at its severed end for several seconds, arriving at the same conclusion he’d had the moment he’d heard Gus’s voice on the phone. For Jesse’s sake, he hadn’t wanted this to be another Victor situation all over again, but the signs were getting harder to ignore. With another weary sigh, he dropped the chain into the pocket of his jacket and started to pull the bloody sheets off the bed.

 

 

* * *

Driving up to the gated front of Walter’s condo, Mike cut the engine and cast his attention to the windows, looking for movement. He reached for his Cheetah and quickly screwed in the silencer, checking the safety out of habit before concealing it under his jacket. He was about to get out of the car when he pulled out his phone and dialed Walter’s number.

 

                “I’m standing outside,” he said into the receiver before the man could even speak. “I expect you to let me in through the gate and for you to have Jesse waiting for me. I don’t want to hear your voice unless I ask you a question. We’re going to keep this exchange brief, and we’re going to follow directions, and then maybe I won’t feel the need to put a bullet through your overactive brain. You got that, Walter? Grunt once if you do.”

 

                “Fine,” he snarled. Mike shut his phone and put it back in his pocket, swinging the car door open wide.

 

                There was a buzz when he stepped up to the bars and Mike pushed his way through, striding to the front door with an impending sense of trouble. The door flew open before Mike got to the step and he could tell from Walter’s sour expression that the man wasn’t going to pay any heed to his instructions.

 

                “You’re going to have to wait a few precious minutes while I bring him down the stairs. He can’t even walk by himself, you know. Do you even have any idea what Gus did to him?”

 

                “Walter, what did I just get through saying?” Mike groused.

 

                “Oh, and just what are you going to do? Shoot me on my front doorstep with a neighborhood of witnesses?” Walter railed as he waved arms around at the row of attached homes.

 

                “I could drop you from right over here and no one would be the wiser,” he said, putting his hand to the inside of his jacket where it rested on the butt of his gun. “Would you like to test me?”

 

                “Just give me a minute,” Walter barked before disappearing back into the house. Mike followed, stepping inside the cool interior as he heard Walt rumble up the stairs. He closed the door behind him but didn’t sit down, choosing instead to stand in wait with his arms crossed in front of his waist, his gun now firmly in his grip. He could hear the bumps and scuffles of the two of them moving around upstairs, and soon the sound of heavy footfalls were making their way back down.

 

                Walter stepped out of the hallway first, his arm around Jesse as he pulled him along. But when Mike saw the boy step into the living room, his body went cold and he had to clench his jaw shut to keep his mouth from falling open. Mike felt a shock that he hadn’t experienced since he’d watched Gus slit Victor’s throat. The kid’s wrist was in a cast, but it was his face that caused Mike’s reaction. The whole right side of it was a mass of purples and blues, Jesse’s cheek still swollen. He was holding his body rigid as he walked, his good arm slung over Walter’s shoulder, and Mike surmised that the kid had some bruising in his ribs judging by Jesse’s pained expression.

 

                “Do you see this?” Walter snapped. “Do you see what your boss has done? He almost killed the boy. And for what? Is he trying to drive his business into the ground? Just who does he think he's going to get to replace us?”

 

                “What the hell were you doing talking with Salamanca?” Mike asked, ignoring Walter’s bitching. “What made you go there to the nursing home?”

 

                That stopped Walter short. “I – I, uh …” He floundered for a moment, glancing in surprise at Jesse and then back at his kitchen. “How did you …? I just thought …” He let the sentence hang, his face creased with his guilt while evading Mike’s query.

 

                “Does your brother-in-law know something about Salamanca’s connection to Gus?”

 

                “Look, Hank’s not even in the country right now. He’s not a problem for you! Gus wanted me to deal with him, so I did! I don’t know what connection you’re referring to.”

 

                Mike rolled his eyes and made a disgusted noise in his throat. It seemed that Schrader knew more than Walter had let on. But his poor attempt at covering for the man clinched any doubts with Mike – Walter had acted on his own. And while the kid had fucked up before and caused them plenty of problems, Mike didn’t think that this was one of those times. He took a gander at Jesse’s face again and winced inside, sucking in a sharp breath. He’d witnessed the handiwork of Gus’s anger before this; even before Victor, and had come to expect a certain level of ruthlessness. It was one of the things that he had respected about Gus, initially; the willingness to get his hands dirty and not dwell on sentiment. He suspected much of it was a by-product of the stress of the business, though Gus would usually play cool. But the wrath he had wielded on Jesse was indicative of a stronger emotional state than Mike was used to seeing from the man. Every bruise on Jesse screamed that this had been deeply personal, adding further credence to the idea that Gus had gotten a little too close to the kid. He suddenly realized just how much trouble Jesse was in.

 

                “Hmmm, and whose idea was it to send him to his destination, I wonder?” Mike mused aloud. Schrader would definitely have to be dealt with in a more finalized way. The agent was smarter than he looked.

 

                Walter had his hands on his hips, getting ready to start complaining again, when Jesse finally spoke up. “Look, not to break up this warm and fuzzy reunion or whatever, but if we’re gonna do this, can we get a move on, already? I’m kind of in pain here.”

 

                “Yes, there you go,” Walter agreed, waving a hand at the kid. “Just how the hell does Gus expect Jesse to cook two hundred pounds a week in this state?” he went on. “He’s got a broken wrist, for crying out loud! It’s a two-man job!” The guy really was a piece of work.

 

                Mike’s laugh was short and cracked. “Walter, you’re never going to see the inside of that lab again,” he assured him with relish. “Now, shut up and help me get the kid in my car.” He noticed that Jesse’s feet were bare, while the shirt he wore looked a size too big and as bland as Walter’s wardrobe, the tails hanging over his sweats. Mike shook his head. “You couldn’t even get the kid some shoes?”

 

                “Excuse me, but I was a little more concerned with the blood pouring out of his mouth,” Walter shot back. “I suppose we should be thankful that Jesse didn’t have any boxcutters lying around his house!”

 

                “All –right! Enough!” Jesse shouted over them both. “Still hurting over here!”

 

                Instantly, Walter scooped an arm behind Jesse’s back and made the boy lean into him. Mike needed to keep his hands on his gun, so he let Walter lead the way out while he followed their slow steps to the driveway. Once outside, he put his gun back under his jacket and hurried over to the passenger’s side to open the door for them. Jesse’s face scrunched up in torment as he eased into the seat, Walter assisting. He watched Walter pat his hand to Jesse’s head with affection before he stepped away, the two of them sharing a look. Mike didn’t buy the father act for a moment. He remembered what Jesse had told him about the night his girlfriend OD’d. If Walter wasn’t somehow involved, then he didn’t know his assholes very well.

 

                Mike closed the door behind the kid and then walked to the back of the car to open the trunk. He pulled out a bag from inside and unzipped it, pulling out the envelope that Gus had requested. Walking back towards Walter, he handed it to him, Walter looking puzzled as he took hold of its fat body.

 

                “Gus has asked me to give you your severance package,” he said dryly. “Use it wisely. I would suggest you get you and your family on a plane within the hour. If Gus catches you back in Albuquerque again, there won’t even be a warning next time, understand?”

 

                Walter’s mouth tightened to a grim line, but he nodded his head in agreement.

 

                “Good. Can’t say it’s been a pleasure, Walter, but you definitely leave an impression.” He cast his eyes down through the window to where Jesse hunkered down in his seat, his head bent to his shoulder. No more half measures, he had told the man, and Jesse seemed to be the living testament to that ideal, inspiring a full commitment from his so-called protectors to go all the way in their madness. “You certainly took my advice to heart, didn’t you?” he grumbled.

 

                “And what advice was that?” the man sneered. “Learning to take yes for an answer?”

 

                Mike sighed. He was so glad he wouldn’t have to talk to this son-of-a-bitch anymore. “Goodbye, Walter.”

 

                As he pulled out of the driveway and swerved the car around, he took enormous satisfaction at watching Walter get smaller and smaller in his rear view mirror. When he was tiny enough, Mike turned his attention back to Jesse, who had stayed quiet since his outburst, looking thoughtful as he stared ahead.

 

                “So …” he began, not sure what to say about Jesse’s injuries. “Now that we’ve had our fun … how are you holding up?”

 

                Jesse rolled his head towards him, a bored look on his face. He shrugged nonchalantly. “Whatever. Like it matters. I didn’t tell Walter shit about Tuco’s uncle. Gus can believe what he wants, and he can kick my ass all the way to Timbuktu, but it ain’t gonna get him any closer to the truth.”

 

                “Hmm, so pretty good then,” he answered for himself. “Feeling a little put out, I take it.” He grasped Jesse’s chin and turned the kid’s face towards him, the boy hissing from his touch. “That’s going take some time to heal. We’re going to need to keep you out of sight for a while. It’ll have to cut into your budding restaurant management career for a bit.” He let go of Jesse’s face as he turned back to the road, still feeling hesitant. “Gus wants you to stay at his place in the meantime,” he said guardedly. “I’ve got some of your clothes in the trunk.”

 

                “Great,” Jesse drawled with complete apathy. “More fun times ahead with Gus’s police stick,” he rasped.

 

                Mike cast another glance to the boy, studying the bruises down the side of his face. That would definitely be the weapon to cause such damage. He wondered just how extensive it went, underneath the kid’s clothes. Beating the boy with a club – that conjured a passionate image – and once again, Mike felt like he’d stepped into someplace where he didn’t want to be. He still had respect for Fring – there was too much history there – and intended to do his job, but he recognized that his growing affection for Jesse was making him take a critical look at the situation. He didn’t like what was transpiring beyond his control, but more importantly, he didn’t think it was good for business. Of all the people in the world that Mike might accuse of thinking with their dick, he never imagined that Gus would be one of them.

 

                Before things had gone wrong, he had determined that Jesse didn’t belong in this business, and had tried to convince Walter of the fact. Now, he didn’t want this business for Jesse. The kid could do better, and Mike wondered if it was too late for him to get out. Even without Gus’s involvement, Jesse hadn’t been faring any better with Walter. He thought back again to the story he’d shared about Gordy, recalled what he’d said about that abusive piece-of-shit’s wife. _Like a bird, wrists like little branches._ He saw Jesse in the same frame as that girl, sitting there beat to hell, so small and slight, letting the world take a royal dump on him time and again. _Nothing we could do but pass her off to the EMTs._ Mike released another weary sigh, feeling like the whole world was crushing his back.

 

                “Tell you what, though,” he said. “You have an opportunity here that you might do well to take advantage of.” The kid needed as much advice as he could get.

 

                Jesse appeared skeptical. “What kind of opportunity would that be?”

 

                “If Fring was done with you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” he noted, knowing intuitively that Gus wasn’t anywhere near ready to have the boy killed. “But whatever he thinks about this whole Walter debacle and whether or not you were involved, he’s very eager to have you back in the fold,” Mike shared. He paused for a beat, deciding to be candid. “I think Walter got his hunch from his brother-in-law, just like he’s been doing. I don’t think you have to worry anymore about that, kid. I think Gus realizes his error.” He watched Jesse carefully as the boy stared through the window, his expression miserable. “Now would be the time to lay the groundwork for your future,” he said. “Walter is out of the picture. It’s just you running the show here. Gus isn’t going to find another chemist any time soon, and more importantly, he seems quite satisfied with the cook he has.” He gave Jesse a knowing look. “You get yourself a safe deposit box. A big one. And you start filling it, as much as you can.” Mike flashed on the last time he’d made a deposit into Kaylee’s trust fund. The stacks of bills were almost to the top. “Renegotiate the terms of your contract. You’re literally the wounded party here. Gus can afford to be magnanimous in his penitence.” He waved an arm dramatically to the windshield, indicating the vast desert outside. “You don’t want to stay here forever, kid. You need to start thinking of an exit strategy.”

 

                Suddenly, there was some life from the kid, and he straightened up in his seat, his eyes flashing keenly on Mike.

 

                “So you don’t think I should, like … learn everything I can about the whole organization? You think Gus won’t want me to step up anymore?”

 

                “I don’t have any idea what Gus wants, particularly where you’re concerned. I just do what I’m told,” he said. “But regardless of what you look like right now, you hold the cards here. I’m telling you to look ahead and learn how to play it smart. Start serving your own interests, do you follow me?”

 

                “Well, what if I was,” Jesse answered. “Say I decide to play the long game. Do you think that I can't get Gus to trust me anymore?”

 

                Mike frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” It hadn’t occurred to him that the kid might have been playing a con.

 

                “I mean, when you think about it,” Jesse resumed, gazing dreamily out of the window again. “Gus is kind of losing his shit. He was a total badass down in Juárez, sure, but that whole thing with Hector? Going to visit him just to rub things in his face? And then going Gestapo on me just ‘cause he thinks I talked to Walt? Does that sound like a rational businessman to you?”

 

                Mike grew uneasy with Jesse’s line of questioning. “What’s your point?”

 

                The kid shrugged in ambivalence. “I don’t know. Just seems like Gus’s days are numbered before he makes a big mistake, the way he’s handling things lately. One that the DEA is gonna notice. And when that day comes, then what happens to the rest of us? We’re all supposed to go down with him? No way, man.”

 

                “And you got a plan for that contingent?” Mike asked with some chagrin.

 

                But Jesse fell quiet, angling his body so that his back pressed against the door. Mike could see the kid watching him out of the corner of his eye and after a minute he turned to him with a raise of his eyebrows, daring the kid to answer him.

 

                “He tortures me, you know,” the kid said quietly, his tone matter-of-fact.

 

                Mike didn’t know how to respond for a second, feeling taken aback. “Does he, now?” he replied with a droll gruffness.

 

                The kid shrugged again, then winced as he put his plastered hand to his side, making Mike cringe in sympathy with the pain from his bullet wound. “He shocks me. Like, for real, with electricity and shit. Sticks needles in me. You know he used to do that for a living, right?”

 

                “What are you talking about, kid?” His uneasiness ratcheted to peak levels. He had suspected as much about Gus’s past, but the man had never confirmed it.

 

                “Back home? When Gus was in the military? He did some fucked up stuff for El Presidente.” Jesse narrowed his gaze as he gave Mike a creepy smile. “What do you think he’s been doing with me on weekends?”

 

                “That’s none of my concern,” Mike answered automatically.

 

                Jesse’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? I mean, I know you know I go over there every weekend. That’s why you never heard me around on Saturdays while you were tapping my house. I’ll wager Tyrus followed me over there most times, right? Made sure I got to my destination like a good little slave.”

 

                But Mike wasn’t willing to acknowledge whatever went on over at Gus’s address and he continued to dance around the elephant in the car that Jesse was so adamant to point out. “So we know you went over there. I think we’d already established that Gus wants to … give you more responsibility. I told you he wants you to rise in the ranks. If you’re insinuating there’s some kind of … _transaction_ between you two, then I don’t know nothing about that.”

 

                “Nah, I’m insinuating that he likes to fuck me up,” Jesse contended. He pointed to his face. “Maybe next time he doesn’t stop. Maybe he just caves my head in. You’re fucking-A right my interests should be self-serving. Like, right now, I’m interested in staying alive.”

 

                “You wanna tell me where the hell you’re going with all this?” he griped. This wasn’t a topic he wanted to discuss.

 

                Jesse shifted in his seat again, his eyes now brilliant. “So, what if the business was just us?” he blurted out. “Just you and me, Mike. I know the cook. You know the contacts, the routes, and all the hands that need to get greased. Gus is dangerous, and now he’s getting unpredictable. I thought you didn’t care for unpredictable?”

 

                Mike uttered a mirthless bark of a laugh. He should have seen this coming. If it had been anyone other than Jesse making such a suggestion, he would have kicked them out of the moving car, and the thought almost made him wish it was Walter sitting next to him again, that long ago satisfaction of kicking the man in the ribs returning for a moment. He wondered for a second if Walter had anything to do with putting the notion in the kid’s head, but in a strange way, he hoped that it had all come from Jesse. The kid was getting smarter.

 

                “Well look who’s just graduated from the kiddie pool to the deep end,” he wised. “No water wings or nothing,” he drawled. He slicked his teeth so that it made a sucking sound and looked over at Jesse’s face, the kid’s eyes still lit with a dangerous gleam. “You have any idea what kind of fire you’re playing with here?” he said bemusedly.

 

                “I’m just sayin’ – the guy’s a loose cannon. Just do me a favor, and tell me you’ll think about it, Mike.”

 

                “This idea wouldn’t have come from your former partner, would it?” He had to ask. They came to Gus’s street and he slowed down as he curved around the sidewalk, not sure when he’d get to talk to the boy again.

 

                “I have to start looking out for myself,” Jesse insisted. “Like you said. It’s my life and I’d like to keep it going for as long as I can. And getting my strings yanked by a bunch of old dudes isn’t doing me any favors.” His expression turned earnest. “You know, I want a family, too, Mike. I have people I care about. And I need to protect them. Surely you get that? You'd do anything to take care of your granddaughter, right?”

 

                Mike grunted in his throat, keeping noncommittal. Pulling out the Kaylee card was unfair, but he understood the kid’s point. They were only a few houses away from Fring’s and Mike wasn’t about to make any spur of the moment decisions.

 

                “How serious is this?” he suddenly asked. “On Gus’s end?” He stared at Jesse, trying to impart his meaning without having to say the words.

 

                Jesse darted a panicked look at the upcoming house with its Grecian columns on its pristine porch and gulped deeply. “Let’s just say … I don’t know if I’m ever coming back out of there.”

 

                Mike pulled into the driveway, the garage door rising ominously as soon as he did. He had a lot to think about and very little time to do it. He slowed the car to a stop and the motorized hum of the garage door began its descent, feeling like a curtain closing on a piece of his old life. Gus stood at the doorway leading into the house, immobile and intimidating, but the second they were ensconced inside, he practically ran to Jesse’s side of the car.

 

                The door whooshed open with a squeak of its hinges. “Take his things inside,” Gus instructed, still speaking very fast. “I will need some help getting him up the stairs.” Mike got out of the car and watched Gus ease Jesse to a standing position, his grip tight around the kid's waist. As Mike came around to the back to open the trunk, he saw Gus lightly stroke a hand to Jesse’s mess of a face. “This should not have happened,” he expressed with a voice full of emotion, as if he hadn’t been the one to administer it.

 

                “Yeah, well … it did,” Jesse drawled wearily, staring off at the open door to the rest of the house.

 

                Mike slammed the trunk to break up the intimacy of the moment. He felt even more conflicted as Gus made Jesse put his good arm around his neck, pulling the boy along as quickly as he could. He stared at them, their bodies pressed together like a couple as they went inside. Jesse turned back his head to gaze at Mike once, his face filled with a silent plea. Then they were gone. Mike reached into the trunk and pulled out the bag bulging with Jesse’s clothes, the kid’s last words to him ringing in his ears and the image of his face already haunting him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, guys, thanks so so much for all of your comments. And thank you also to the readers who have responded to me on my tumblr blog. I'm getting so excited as we near the end of this! Gosh, I swear I never intended for it to get this big. It was only meant to be four chapters at first, ha ha. At least I know I'll never have a problem writing a full-length novel.
> 
> I will say this - the internet is a wonderful thing. Let's hope that Edward Snowden isn't referring to me with the idea that NSA officials are casing out my google history.
> 
> Icekhione - That was such a lovely and kind review! Thank you so much for your thoughts. Your praise put the biggest smile on my face when I read it. I love these characters so much, and its really important for me that they sound right. I appreciate you taking the time to comment.
> 
> Marselina - I'll tell you what, I'm not much of a 'shipper, so I don't really read things for one couple over another. I just like to read good characterizations and interesting plots. But over the course of writing this - you know, I would say that Gus/Jesse has really grown on me, lol. They are kind of crazy hot together. 
> 
> Porkchop_Sandwiches - Thanks for your comments on that scene. The beats between Walter and Jesse's conversations are one of my favorite things about the show - particularly their squabbling, so I felt like Walt could easily straddle his concern for Jesse's well-being with some resentment for being made to feel so shitty that Jesse would go to such extremes to protect him. I definitely share that with Walt. I think there's probably a lot more of Walter in me than I care to admit.
> 
> warriorpoet - 'captured Walter at his absolute manipulative asshole best' is high praise!! I do my best! :)
> 
> and Jennifurby - okay, I lied. We're going to have to wait for the next chapter to get back to Gus's thoughts. But I hope you are seeing more of Jesse's stronger side.
> 
> My schedule has been pretty frenetic lately, so I never know what day I can get these chapters finished, but I am moving at a pace now that I am still able to maintain a weekly post. It's a sprint to the finish line now.


	35. The Brother

 

_I don’t think we’re alike at all, Mr. White. You are not a cautious man at all._

                Gus grabbed the banister as he pulled them up the stairs, holding on to Jesse as tight as he could without injuring him further. He shot a glance to the boy’s face, seeing the vicious bruises up close, and felt a sharp stab of guilt in his gut as Jesse grimaced from the pain. He hadn’t wanted this. Hadn’t meant to react the way he did. Why had Walter screwed everything up again? Gus wanted the man so dead he could taste the rotting flesh.

 

                A door slammed past the dining room hall and Gus halted them on the steps, waiting for Mike to come inside. As soon as he came through to the foyer, Gus called for him.

 

                “Bring his things up to my room. Quickly. Get on the other side of him.” And he stuck out his chin to indicate Jesse’s side where the young man gripped the railing. Mike moved slowly as he trod up the carpeted steps, the bag slung over his shoulder. While it was a tight squeeze, he slid up on Jesse’s right and cuffed a hand around the boy’s arm, the three of them just barely fitting into the width of the staircase. The scene felt strangely familiar, and then Gus suddenly remembered the events after he’d succumbed to the poison, Jesse and Mike on either side of him dragging him to the car in their escape. The memory reminded him of why he’d been drawn to the boy in the first place, and he held Jesse tighter, his affection returning in a surge. He understood that Jesse would be upset, that he had suffered terribly, but there was still promise in the boy. The fact that he had called Gus and asked to come back was a good sign that he would be open to forgiveness. Gus still had a chance to smooth things over, to excise the last of Walter’s influence.

 

                They got Jesse up to the landing and Gus guided him out of Mike’s embrace, his free hand moving to cradle Jesse’s jaw as he pushed the boy’s head towards his shoulder. He brought him through the door and maneuvered him to the bed, where the duvet and sheets were already peeled back in invitation.

 

                “You got it from here,” Mike asked, though it sounded more like a statement. Gus turned to see him standing awkwardly in the doorway as though he was afraid to step inside the room. Mike’s attention seemed to be focused on Jesse’s shoeless feet being tucked under the sheets, his lip curled in distaste.

 

                “Give me a moment to get the boy settled. You can leave the bag there and we will talk downstairs.” Mike grunted, tossed the clothes to the floor and then disappeared.

 

                “Can I get some more aspirin?” Jesse asked in a feeble, whispery voice. “It’s been a couple hours.”

 

                “Of course,” Gus replied with conciliatory attentiveness. He shook his head. “Why not something stronger? Did the doctor not prescribe anything?”

 

                Jesse gave him a withering look. “I can’t,” he said. “You know why.” He looked away to the window. “Just give me four or five of them. Ibuprofen, if you got it.”

 

                “I see. Well.” He paused as he considered Jesse’s discomfort. The boy was holding up remarkably well. “But … this is good, Jesse. That you can handle this.” Though his empathy for the boy sharpened, it was his pride that burned brightest. The fact that Jesse could work through the pain gave Gus a twisted but tangible proof that his training had been effective.

 

                “Sure,” Jesse said calmly. “I can handle whatever you throw at me.” He turned back to face Gus squarely, his eyes shining. “But I still told you the truth.”

 

                Gus had had enough time to decompress that he felt suitably chastened by Jesse’s tone. The boy looked terrible and Gus sincerely felt some remorse for how far he’d gone. But it had all sprung from Walter’s actions and Jesse had to understand that the man was always going to be a problem.

 

                “I’m going to speak with Mike briefly,” he said. “You get comfortable and I’ll be back with some pain reliever in a minute. I will make you some tea,” Gus added with a modest smile. Jesse simply laid his head back on the pillows and closed his eyes.

 

                When Gus came down, Mike was waiting near the front door. He strolled over with a sigh. “So. What did he say?” It was clear who he was referring to.

 

                “I think Schrader’s Columbo-act has gone on for too long. I found out that he’s brought Hector in before, when they questioned Pinkman about his involvement with Hector’s nephew. The guy knew where to find him. Now, he might have made the connection to you, or he might have just hoped that he had former cartel as a captive audience and hoped he could get information – but whatever he was thinking of doing, he must have said something to Walter.” Mike still wasn’t looking at him, but his lip trembled as it pulled back in disgust. “I don’t think Jesse had anything to do with this.”

 

                “Has anyone spoken to Hector yet? Do we know who else may have visited him?”

 

                Mike shrugged. “Tyrus got nothing out of him. Not even a ding. He checked the register, but it only went back a month. The only time Schrader’s name popped up was from Walter’s visit.”

 

                “Very well, then. Did you get him the money?”

 

                “I did.”

 

                “And what did Walter say?”

 

                “Surprisingly, not a word.”

 

                “Fine. Keep tabs on him until they are gone. Let me know as soon as this happens.” He tilted his head, nodding back to the upstairs room. “This one will stay with me for now. But obviously, with his injuries, he will not be able to cook for the foreseeable future. This will be a good time to go on hiatus. If the DEA decide to follow up on Schrader’s leads, we don’t need any more poking around in our facilities while production is in session.”

 

                “What kind of hiatus are we talking? The kid’s going to be out of commission for at least a few weeks.”

 

                “We can prepare the shipping arrangements with Summers and Barrera in the meantime, while we take a month off. A dry spell will be a good way to drive up the price once we come back with more product. This is not a setback, simply a redirection,” he insisted. “The boy will need to build up inventory for the first Australian delivery when he’s functional again.”

 

                “Well, the _boy_ is going to need some help, unless you plan on working him ‘round the clock. And I get the sense that you have other things marked for his schedule,” Mike grumbled, flashing a hard look at Gus.

 

                “Do you have something you want to say to me, Mike?” Gus goaded, feeling the man’s sudden hostility like a heat wave.

 

                Mike made a disgruntled face and shook his head, his eyes wandering back to the door. “No, sir. We done here?”

 

                Gus brushed off the tone, preferring to get back to Jesse. “Yes, we are done. I will be staying at home until further notice. Did you take care of Pinkman’s house?”

 

                There was a break in Mike’s step as he turned to the door. “Yeah,” he said sharply. “I took care of it.” He started for the exit again but then stopped once more to fish something out of his pocket. “Oh. By the way …” Mike pulled out a long gold strand and held it out to Gus. “Thought you might want this. I found it … in Jesse’s bed.” Another menacing glance and curl of his upper lip. “Looks like it got ripped off in all the … _tumult_.”

 

               

                Gus let it drop in the palm of his hand and cupped a fist around it, a melancholy pang hitting him. “Thank you,” he said in distraction, now wanting Mike out of his house so that he could tend to Jesse. He turned to head for his kitchen, an automatic dismissal, and felt a deep satisfaction once he heard the door shut behind him. There would be no more drama for the rest of the day. It was back to him and Jesse, alone in the house, with no disturbances from the outside world.

 

                When he walked back into the room with a tray between his hands, Gus noticed the boy staring at the photographs on his bedside table. Jesse jerked his head away as soon as he saw Gus in the room, tried to sit up against the pillows with some difficulty.

 

                “Wait, I will do that for you,” Gus said as he set the tray down on the end of the bed. He moved the tea to the nightstand and then helped Jesse sit up, tucking many pillows behind his back to support him. “I brought you a little something to eat. The _manjar_ that you like spread on some toast. I can cook up some eggs if you are still hungry after.” He handed Jesse a fistful of pills, a Vicodin mixed in with the blue ones.

 

                “What’s this?” Jesse asked. His expression turned distrustful as he held the palm-full out for inspection.

 

                “You need to manage the pain, but this will help. A few Vicodin will not be habit-forming. It is just for a day or two, until you feel better.” Gus said it in a manner that left little room for argument and Jesse appeared to accept the dictum, popping all of the pills into his mouth at once before swallowing them with the tea.

 

                “Shit, that’s hot.” He winced as he adjusted his back against the pillows, handing the mug back to Gus. “I’m not much of a tea drinker.”

 

                “It has chamomile in it. Very soothing,” Gus said. He hesitated for a moment. “I don’t want you to suffer,” he finally added.

 

                “Wow. That would be a first.” Jesse looked up into Gus’s face with defiance. “Maybe you should have thought of that _before_ you beat the crap out of me.”

 

                “Jesse,” he began, not sure what he was going to say. He sat down on the bed, brushed his hand down the length of Jesse’s arm that lay stiffly along his side. “I made a mistake. I see that now. I was convinced that Walter had gone to Hector because of you.”

 

                “Uh, yeah, I kind of figured that part out,” the boy said in a disparaging tone. He waved fingers at the right side of his face. “You made it pretty clear.”

 

                Gus bristled at Jesse’s tone but he knew he deserved it and made another attempt at attrition. “Yes, I was quick to suspect you. But surely you must see how I would easily assume such a thing. You beg me to keep the man alive every day. You have shown extreme loyalty to him. It seemed like a logical leap that you would have been the one to inform Walter about Hector’s significance to me as well as his whereabouts.”

 

                “Maybe,” the boy conceded. “But you barely gave me a chance to defend myself. What happened to all that stuff about believing in me, and wanting me to be at my very best?”

 

                Gus looked down at his knees shamefully. “You know I meant all of that,” he replied in a rush. “It is why I was so … why I reacted the way I did. I do not like betrayal. It is … the one thing I cannot abide. Not from business partners, not from family, and especially not from you.”

 

                “Really? Just the one thing, huh?” Jesse arched an eyebrow. “Well, nobody likes being betrayed Gus. But sometimes you gotta let people prove their innocence. I mean, when you think about it, what would Hector even agree to? The guy may hate you, but he’s as hardcore as they come. No way that guy would rat you out, let alone work with his enemy. He wouldn’t even cop to me being at his house when Tuco kidnapped us. Could have ruined my life, right? Bought me a major jail sentence? But he didn’t, and it’s not like Mr. Scrunchy Face doesn’t hate my guts, too. Like, seriously, what do you think Walter was even gonna do?”

 

                Gus sucked in a breath. “I do not know. But Walter is a brilliant and cunning man. It would be foolish to underestimate him.”

 

                “Right. But jumping to conclusions, pulling an old police move like busting heads with a billy club – that’s better, is it?”

 

                “I told you, I made a mistake,” Gus repeated through gritted teeth. “I – I didn’t …” he paused to take a breath, puncturing the anger swelling inside of him. He saw his brother’s face again, from so long ago – perhaps the last time he had seen him alive. _Gustavo, the world burns around you and you blow on the flames!_ When the call had come, he had been partially relieved.

 

                “My … brother,” he began, meeting Jesse’s eyes. “He was a traitor to the party. Started to plot against the government with a group of malcontents he’d met while still at university. He left his post, got into drugs, starting speaking nonsense. Heretical nonsense, but he’d clearly become a dissident, and he became sloppy, running his mouth with the wrong company. Mateo had always been stubborn and wild, from day one. The staff at the academy could never control him, either, much to the disappointment of my father. He was constantly getting into trouble, antagonizing Alejandro at every opportunity, whether it be politics, or what shade blue the sky was. But he was so very charismatic. Funny. Beautiful.” Gus slipped a thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose and slid them under his glasses, pressing his eyelids. “And I loved him very much,” he said softly, his emotions spilling into his voice. “I attempted to talk some sense into him when I heard the rumors. He was … messed up on cocaine and who knew what else. He was paranoid and aggressive. So unlike the brother I knew, had grown up with. I could have had him arrested. I should have. He might still be alive.” But Gus knew that was a lie and he shook his head. “Maybe not. But I couldn’t let him wreak his destruction, nor ruin our family’s name. I found out how they were planning to strike … from my _wife_. She was … very close to him.” He searched Jesse’s face, trying to reach him, make him understand. “They were lovers. I knew, but I never confronted them about it. Mateo … he would ask about Max, wanted me to know that he had discovered my secret, and I realized it was Pilar who had told him. And I knew the truth, then. Sometimes, I wonder … about Victoria.” He twisted his head to stare at her photo on the nightstand, the doubt weighing on him as an old pain throbbed to life. “If she is even mine. The girl is so much like him,” he lamented, missing them both so terribly. “The information the rebels had been given was a plant. They blew up the wrong car; Pinochet was never going to be there. And my brother was blown up with it.”

 

                “And who gave them the information?” Jesse asked, in a voice laced with accusation.

 

                “Mateo was lost to me,” Gus insisted sadly. “He was going to bring us all down with him. My family would have been arrested, questioned. The information he had passed on to those jackals … he had been in my house. Gone through my things. Got my wife to turn on me. She would interrogate me at all hours, whenever I was home, wanting to know what I was doing, who I had spoken to. They both watched me closely. When I realized what he had done, I tried to give him one more chance to back out, but he wouldn’t listen. Mateo made his choice.”

 

                “So you screwed him over? That’s kind of harsh. He was still your brother, man. Yeah, it sucks that he was boning your old lady, but sounds like you weren’t interested much in what she was offering, anyway. Woman’s gonna want to get laid eventually, you know? I mean, she totally knew you were cheating on her. Can you really blame her?”

 

                “Yes,” Gus hissed. “She could have fucked _anyone_ else other than my brother.” He shook his head. “But it wasn’t even about Pilar. Mateo was …” his breath hitched as emotion overwhelmed him again. “We were supposed to look out for each other. And he deserted me.”

 

                “Deserted you? What do you mean? Maybe he just had a problem with the way your government was treating its citizens. Ever think of it that way?”

 

                “No, before that. At school. He left me. Left me to deal with them on my own.” The fear and bitterness had almost choked Gus when he’d been sent back to the academy, knowing which of the students would be lying in wait. He’d begged his brother to help him, his big, handsome brother who had always defended him against the wrath of their father. But Mateo had left for Concepción the night before Gus was forced to go back. He did not return until six years later.

 

                Jesse squint his eyes, his confusion marked in his features. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Gus. Left you to who?”

 

                “The boys at the academy,” Gus said sharply. He held Jesse’s gaze, tried again to explain himself. “They were waiting for me. The news of Sebastian leaving had spread; they knew why we had been expelled. And they knew why I was allowed to return. I told you how they resented me. Hated me. And they punished me for it. But Mateo had already taken off. Like a coward.”

 

                Jesse scanned his face as Gus spoke, watched him for a beat once he was done before letting loose a deep sigh. He turned away to stare at the window. “I’m sure that was no picnic,” he offered softly. “But it doesn’t change anything. I know what it’s like, okay? To get ditched by family. And I get it – people disappoint you and it feels shitty and makes you feel stupid for … you know, expecting anything from them.” He dropped his head back again and put a hand over his eyes. “And I know – I know what it’s like to feel betrayed, Gus. I mean, _Walter_ – shit, he basically told me that he hoped I got iced over in Mexico. After everything I did for him. ‘Cause I asked him for help. To, you know, give me notes or something so I could show those chemists what to do. I mean, the guy calls me an idiot all the time, talks to me like I’m his trained monkey. But he did stick his neck out for me, and saved my life a few times, so … it’s complicated. Yeah, I don’t want him killed; doesn’t mean I’m in love with the dude. I just don’t like people getting killed. Can you even understand that?” He glared at Gus as he sat up straighter, wincing in pain.

 

                “In this business, it is unavoidable,” Gus replied patiently. “You need to accept this.” He rested a hand on Jesse’s arm. “If Walter had been dealt with as I intended, this would never have happened.”

 

                “Really?” Jesse shot back angrily. “That’s your answer?” He pointed to his face. “So this is all Walter’s fault? Or really, I guess it’s mine, huh? Since I wouldn’t let you murder him.”

 

                “This is not what I meant,” Gus said earnestly, squeezing Jesse’s good wrist. “Please listen to me. I am sorry for how this was handled, but you need to understand these things. I want more for you, Jesse. But you need to let Walter go first.”

 

                “Can you just forget about Walter for a second? This isn’t about him, you got it? This is about _you_ and _me._ I thought –” but he dropped the rest, hissing under his breath as he looked away from Gus in exasperation. “I believed you, okay?”

 

                “What? What did you believe?”

 

                Jesse’s head lolled to the side as he stared expectantly into Gus’s eyes. “ _Look_ –at first, I figured you just wanted me as your cook ‘cause Walt was such a dickhead. And that was cool. More money for me, right? But then you wanted this whole … _arrangement,_ and I didn’t understand, didn’t get why you would want me for that. But it got kind of obvious pretty fast – you wanted someone you could go all prison warden on. And you really dug balling me. Fine, whatever, I could deal with that. But why’d you have to go and say the stuff you did?” He held out his hands in askance, palms up. “Giving me new responsibilities? Taking me to see people you wanted to do business with? What was all that? Making me feel like I was important to you when you didn’t even mean it?”

 

                “You _are_ important to me,” Gus asserted. “You are _very_ important. I was not being insincere.”

 

                “Then why wouldn’t you give me a chance to explain?” Jesse demanded. “I thought you cared about me?”

 

                 
                “I do!” Gus exclaimed. He stopped to collect his breath and compose himself, pressing a hand to his chest. “I do,” he said again, more controlled. The fits of his emotions roiled within him and he felt a strong pull towards Jesse, needed the boy to understand. “I care you about you _very much._ ”

 

                Jesse sighed long and deep. He rubbed his good hand over his face. “So, I guess it’s true,” he mumbled. “You do always hurt the ones you love.” As soon as Jesse said it, there was another pang in Gus’s chest. He felt it, wanted Jesse to know his heart. But he couldn’t say any more, couldn’t allow himself to be any more vulnerable than he was already.

 

                “It felt nice, you know?” Jesse continued, sounding so dispirited. “I mean, yeah, the sex was … intense. And the other stuff scary as hell. But when we would talk, I felt like …” He glanced back at Gus with big eyes, the shine in them making Gus ache. “I felt like you really did see something in me. That I was actually worth … doing all those things for. And I ain’t ever had that before, you know? My folks wrote me off pretty early. When my brother came along, they finally had the kid they wanted and were annoyed they still had to deal with me. I was in the way, or whatever. Not … _worthy_ enough to be in the family. And fine, I was a crappy son, and I’ve done a lot of stupid, fucked up shit, but I only ever wanted to be good at something and, you know, have someone notice. To have some kind of purpose, right? And you … you made me feel like I was … just what you wanted.” Jesse’s voice cracked as tears welled up in his eyes. “I felt like I could be myself. And it was okay. That I was …” But Jesse couldn’t finish. He shook his head in despair and curled his legs up into his body, turning on his good side with a low moan. “Forget it,” he groaned.

 

                But Gus couldn’t disregard the boy’s admission, and he reached for Jesse, laid down beside him as he pulled him into an embrace. “I am sorry for not trusting you,” he whispered, feeling every bit of the apology. “I will not hurt you again. You will stay with me and I will take care of you.” He cradled the boy’s battered face gingerly. “I will know all of you in time. And you will know me.” He pressed his lips softly to the young man underneath him, grateful to have him back. He wanted to share everything with Jesse. It would just be the two of them from now on.

 

 

* * *

 

               

                Jesse forced himself to stay still, wouldn’t flinch as Gus held his face then leaned in to kiss him. He sucked in a breath, trying not to tremble as Gus kissed his cheek, the side of his nose, over his eye. He wouldn’t get upset. He wouldn’t move. He had to let Gus come to him. Yet he felt split in two, his mind in a tumble, knowing that the words coming out of his mouth were mostly the truth. And what kind of pathetic sap was he that he could feel that way about a torturer and a killer?

 

                “You never hurt your girls, did you?” he asked suddenly. Gus reared his head back, looking offended.

 

                “What? Of course not. I would never do such a thing.”

 

                “So then, you _know_ that you can’t treat people you care about like this. I shouldn’t have to explain that, right?”

 

                Gus went quiet, turned his eyes down to the rest of Jesse’s body. He put a tentative hand over the cast and Jesse locked up his joints and held himself stiffly, wouldn’t react in fear. Gust trailed light fingers across the cast on his wrist. “I did this?” he murmured in surprise.

 

                “No, I did,” Jesse admitted in a long breath as he tried to relax. “I was trying to reach the drawer of my nightstand and I pulled too hard on the handcuff. It sounded so gross, like a pencil snapping in half.”

 

                Gus winced at the visual Jesse provided. “What did you intend to do?” he asked. “Before Walter arrived.”

 

                “I don’t know. Just figured I’d better get myself to a hospital or something. Didn’t seem too smart, laying there waiting for you to come back and finish me off.”

 

                Gus glanced up sharply. “I would not have done that. You are too important to me. I need you.”

 

                “Right. For your precious meth,” Jesse said sarcastically, Gus’s words upsetting him. “Can’t let production come to a grinding halt, can we?”

 

                “No. _I_ need you,” he emphasized as he stroked Jesse’s face. “But I also need to know that you will always be mine. That you will never lie to me.”

 

                Jesse felt his stomach flip, the pain in his ribs as his breath pinched making him want to scream. “What? _Always_ be yours? What do you mean by that?”

 

                “Stay with me,” Gus said. “Here. I want you to move in. You will have your every need tended to. No more trouble. I will teach you everything about our business. Once we start recruiting more cooks, we can spend more time together. Go wherever you want. I will show you the world.”

 

                Jesse gawked back at him. “You … want me to … _live with you.”_

 

                Gus ran a thumb tenderly across Jesse’s bottom lip, his gaze full of affection. “Yes. We are shutting down production, so that you will have time to have a full recovery. And I can take care of you properly. No more … punishments. You will see. We will only do what you agree to, what you desire. I know you have a taste for what we do now, but we will take it slower. I will make you feel pleasure you have never imagined. You are what I want, Jesse.” He paused and Jesse started to tremble again, felt himself growing hysterical. “You … will have to stop seeing the girl,” Gus added cautiously. “It is only confusing for the child, in the long run. End things now. This is for the best.”

 

                “You want me to call it quits with Andrea,” he said dully, his throat tightening. “So that we can … be together.”

 

                “I can make you happy,” Gus said, gripping his face before suddenly kissing him in a frenzy of passion. Jesse was overwhelmed, no longer having any idea what he was supposed to be feeling as he let this man put his tongue inside him, hold him, and caress him. The slim pulse of victory beat within him, knowing that he had won Gus over, but he only wanted to cry, his mind and body exhausted and worn through. He was sick at what was being asked of him, while at the same time desperate for the comfort Gus was offering. A sob welled up inside of him so deep and so huge that he had to hold on to Gus for fear it would crush him. It broke from his chest and traveled to Gus’s mouth, the tears following right after, and Gus swallowed it up, devoured his pain. He kissed Jesse’s face, licked the tears streaming down as he shushed him soothingly, and Jesse’s body convulsed with his torment.

 

 

* * *

 

                “Wait. Relax your arm, I will do the rest.”

 

                Jesse had awakened to find himself wrapped in Gus’s arms, having no idea how long he’d been asleep. The light was on in the room and it felt quite late. He felt a little more settled as Gus had maneuvered him back to a sitting position, yet he grew uneasy again once Gus began to undress him. A set of silk pajamas sat on the bed, and Gus was currently sliding Jesse out of Walter’s shirt. Jesse stayed quiet and let Gus do his thing, following instructions as Gus made him bend forward as much as he could while the pajama top was slipped up his back. The silk felt cool and luxurious on his skin, and as Gus buttoned him up, he sighed in relief. The Vicodin had kicked in, the pain ebbing to a background pulse while the rest of him felt buffered by invisible clouds.

 

                “We must get you well again,” Gus was muttering. “I want you to feel at home. Whatever you need, you have only to ask.” He started to pull Jesse’s pants off. “I will take care of you and you will heal, then we will resume our work together.” The sweatpants were ripped away and discarded to the floor and Jesse realized he was holding his breath again, his eyes dry and strained as they widened. He felt exposed, unprotected, and unsure of what Gus would do to him next. But the man simply picked up the pajama bottoms and flapped them out, shimmying them up Jesse’s legs as he continued his one-sided conversation. “I am going ahead with the arrangements with Summers and Barrera. They asked about you,” Gus looked up at him with a smile. “They want to see you again, but we will have to wait a bit, until your face looks better.”

 

                Jesse grunted as Gus made him lift his hips while the pants were hiked up over his ass. When they were secure around his waist and Jesse was completely covered again, he felt better, but then Gus stroked him, slid fingers down his chest and abdomen until a hand rested over his crotch. Jesse knew that he should open his legs; that he should let Gus feel him up and get him hard, but he couldn’t do it yet. He still felt too fragile.

 

                “Did you mean it?” he asked into the silence.

 

                “Mean what?” Gus started to massage the tops of Jesse’s thighs.

 

                “You won’t punish me anymore?” He looked at Gus accusingly, his indignation rising for a moment as he thought about what had gone on in the gym. “I mean, even before Walt went and got you worked up – what you did to me yesterday – that was pretty fucking harsh.”

 

                Gus’s expression had gone blank. “It was … a lot, yes.”

 

                “And you promise you won’t ever do that to me again?”

 

                “Only if you ask me to.”

 

                Jesse tried not to shudder. “I can guarantee you that I won’t ever be asking for _that_ ,” he said. “I mean, the needles and the cane were hard enough. The rest of it …” He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. “What about the arrangement then? Is that done?”

 

                “I think we have moved past that.”

 

                “Yeah, I guess so,” he agreed listlessly. He locked eyes with Gus, determined not the make the same mistake again. “Hey, I just want to say … the last time that we talked, about the deal and the money. I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did. I … I said it wrong. And I think I hurt you, but that was never my intention. I’m sorry.”

 

                Gus arched an eyebrow. “Is this what you think? I was strict with you because you disregarded my feelings?”

 

                “Yes?” Jesse answered slowly, unsure of where Gus was headed. “Isn’t that why you were mad at me?”

 

                “I assure you, I am not that sentimental,” Gus said, looking slightly amused by the question. “But you did very well,” he added. “I was impressed. Especially when we went downstairs. You are much stronger than you realize.”

 

                Jesse didn’t think much of the compliment. “Well, I didn’t have a whole lot of choice.”

 

                Gus spoke haltingly as he looked down to Jesse’s plastered wrist. “I … need to ask you something,” he said in his deep, serious voice.

 

                It was quiet for a beat. “Yeah? Okay?” Jesse prompted.

 

                “What did you tell your mother? On why you were there?”

 

                “Huh?” Jesse was lost, not understanding a word of Gus’s request. “What’s my mother got to do with anything?”

 

                “When she saw you at the hospital?” Gus tilted his head, his tone quizzical. “I assumed you called her.”

 

                “What the hell are you talking about, Gus?” Jesse was starting to get upset. “I haven’t talked to my mother since I bought back the house. What hospital?”

 

                Gus watched him intently for a few seconds before answering. “Tyrus tracked you to Presbyterian, where Walter took you. We couldn’t approach your room because your mother was present, speaking with the doctor. There was no sign of Walter at the time. Would he have contacted her? Was this subterfuge an attempt to keep us away?”

 

                Jesse was agog, in disbelief that his mother would have shown up to see him. “Are we talking about the same woman? Short, kinda dumpy, blonde hair? Always looks likes she’s judging you?”

 

                “I did not see the woman, this was simply the information I received. But yes, she was identified by a staff member.”

 

                He was in a daze as Gus spoke, but then he remembered Sarah Lynn. “Shit,” he said aloud. “I can’t believe she did that.”

 

                “Explain,” Gus commanded.

 

                Jesse scratched at the back of his head. “Um, the nurse. She must have called. She was, like, an old girlfriend. I mean, a friend. It was never serious or anything. We fucked around back in high school, for like a semester. She hung around my house a few times. She asked about my mom, after asking me if I remembered her,” he laughed. “Like, I would totally forget that we fucked or something. High school wasn’t that long ago, yo.” He stared at Gus in amazement, still blown away. “My _mother_ came to see me?” Just as quickly, his anger sparked. “And, like, Walter didn’t say a damn thing about it when I woke up. What an asshole!”

 

                Gus raised his eyebrows again. “Yes. I would agree.” But he was noticeably at ease after Jesse’s answer. He shifted closer to him on the bed. “Well, with that settled, I will go and fix you something to eat. It is past dinner, but still not too late for a proper meal. Can I get you anything else?”

 

                “Um. Can I get some help to the bathroom?” Jesse asked hesitantly. He didn’t really want Gus’s assistance with taking a piss, but he was feeling woozy from the Vicodin.

 

                “Of course. Hold on to me.” Gus slipped an arm around Jesse’s waist and pulled him to the edge of the bed, while Jesse clumsily propped his cast on the other side of Gus’s neck. He was tired of feeling so helpless, being shuffled around between Walt and Gus like he was a child. They made it to the en suite and Gus lifted the lid on the toilet, started to tug down Jesse’s pajamas.

 

                “Oh, hey, it’s cool. I’m good. You can go,” he insisted.

 

                “Let me help,” Gus replied. “I don’t want you to fall. Lean on me.”

 

                “Gus, it’s not my legs that are broken. I’m fine. Really. Go get dinner started. I’m starving.”

 

                “Are you sure?”

 

                “Yes, totally! I can pee by myself. And I really am hungry.”

 

                Gus finally left him alone to go down to the kitchen. Jesse breathed a sigh of relief and slid his pajamas down further one-handed. He took a long piss, the sound from the bowl echoing loudly, and Jesse thought about the last time he’d been in there, the way that Gus had showered with him and he’d felt for a brief moment that he was finally being treated like a human being. And then Gus had turned on him in an instant. Much like Mr. White would do to him, often giving him whiplash the way the man could shut him out or turn nasty after only seconds before calling him _son._ Jesse wondered if there was just something about him that drew mercurial narcissists to him like flies. He slowly moved to the sink as he pulled up his pajamas, and turned on the faucet. Glancing up in the mirror, Jesse’s breath caught as he stared at the sight of his face. Half of it looked blasted away, deformed by the swelling and yellowish, purpled bruises. He peeled back the bandage over his eye, saw the black stitches poking up like wires and patted it back down again. Jesse wondered again if he could really do what Walter asked of him, if he’d be brave enough or smart enough. But he had to try. Spending a life with Gus Fring was certainly not the answer, no matter how he treated Jesse when he was in a good mood.

 

                Jesse finished washing his hands and then hobbled out of the bathroom, disregarding the bed and moving towards the stairway to see if Gus needed any help in the kitchen.

 

 

* * *

 

 

                They were in the middle of eating when the doorbell rang. Brock looked up hopefully, in the process of chewing his food.

 

                “Mami, it’s Jesse!” he yelled with his mouth full.

 

                “I doubt it, baby. I told you, Jesse’s been really busy. Just stay here and finish your dinner,” Andrea said, getting up from the table with a sudden knot in her stomach. She was halfway to the front door when she heard a gentle rapping. It was dark out, but she could still make out the familiar silhouette from the outside lights. Andrea opened the door with a whoosh, wanting to know what the hell he was doing here.

 

                “Oh. Hello,” he said timidly. “I hope I’m not disturbing your dinner, Andrea. It’s Walter White again. I was …” Walter fiddled with his hands. “I was hoping that we could talk,” he finished, sounding paternal and authoritative.

 

                “Excuse me? Talk about what?” she asked, her tone guarded but hostile.

 

                “About Jesse.” He held her gaze. “He needs our help.”

 

                Andrea smirked at the understatement. “Tell me about it. I know who you are, Mr. White,” she said suggestively before shaking her head. “I don’t think Jesse wants your help.”

 

                “Please. Can I come inside? There have been some … _developments._ I need your access to him. I wouldn’t have bothered you, but it’s the only way.” His eyes softened, crinkling with his desperation. “ _Please._ I just need a moment of your time. It’s … it’s important.”

 

                “Does it have to do with that chicken man?” she asked through clenched teeth. His face brightened at the recognition.

 

                “Yes! Yes, it does.”

 

                Andrea let him stand there for a few uncomfortable seconds before making up her mind. “Okay. Fine, come in. My son and I were just finishing dinner, but I’d rather have this conversation privately.” She held out a hand for him to sit down in the living room. “Why don’t you wait here while I get him into his bath.”

 

                “Thank you,” Walter breathed as he stepped inside. He glanced around the house and then turned back to her, his eyes following to the couch where she was pointing. “I promise I won’t take up too much of your time, Andrea. I – I need to be somewhere soon. But first I need to know if I can count on your help.”

 

                “Have a seat, Mr. White. I’ll be right back.”

 

                Andrea left him to step through to the kitchen, Brock already out of his seat as he tried to peer through the doorway. She came up to him and put her hands on his shoulders as she turned him around towards the staircase. “Go take your bath, baby. Mommy has a visitor that she needs to talk to in private, okay? I’ll be up in a bit.” She started to herd him through the hallway.

 

                “Is that man Jesse’s friend?” Brock asked.

 

                “Maybe,” Andrea answered obliquely. They came back into the front of the house again and she tapped his bottom as she sent him up the stairs, Brock straining his neck as he looked behind him to Walter sitting on the couch. “I’ll be right back,” she said, addressing Walter, and followed Brock up the stairs to the bathroom, but then quickly walked past it to her bedroom. She closed the door behind her and pulled out her phone from her back pocket, searching for the number that Jesse had given her. A nervous flutter began in her stomach as she punched the button to connect it, listening to the rings in earnest. A gruff voice answered.

 

                “Hello?”

 

                “Hello. This is Andrea,” she started, not sure what to say. “Andrea Cantillo? Jesse gave me this number. He said you would know what to do.”

 

                It was quiet for several seconds.

 

                “Hello?” she strained into the phone.

 

                “Where are you,” the man asked. “And is anybody with you?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, thanks a lot, BCS, for shitting all over my Mike backstory, lol. Who's next, Gus? (although Mike/Jonathan Banks tore my heart out with that performance last night). Funny, but I was a hair breadth away from using Matt as Mike's son's name, I kid you not - Mike being the name of my father and my son, Matt being the name of my ex-husband, but I ultimately went with my brother's name, Bobby, because of the father/son dynamic. 
> 
> honeydewsyndrome - Well, can't say that the tension and the suspense is resolved in this one, but thanks! Jesse is a smart cookie, sometimes. But the tug-of-war continues.
> 
> theconalkid - Thank you so much! I don't know that Jesse can get out soon enough, but ... we'll see what happens. One of my favorite things about early season five (one of the few things, really) was Mike and Walter's bickering, with Jesse forever positioned in between them. I loved Mike's complete and utter contempt for Walter. It was a glorious thing.
> 
> Cricket, Marselina, and Sega - thanks again! It's so close to the end, I can't believe it, but there are still a few turns to take.


	36. The Colony

 

_You either run from things or you face them, Mr. White._

 

                Walter sat in the back seat of the taxi cab, his mind moving at a rapid speed as strategies and mixing procedures invaded it. He watched the downtown area’s office buildings whizz by under a heavy full moon, seeing a glimpse of the Federal building that Hank worked at lit up in a bluish glow. He’d packed off his family to the airport, had bought a ticket for himself and had gone through the customs line with them for security’s sake, before sending Skyler off with a look, their story already agreed upon as he made his way to the restroom and then hid out in the terminal for another hour.

 

                The conversation with Jesse’s girlfriend had gone better than expected. He knew that Jesse would be angry for involving her, but there really was no other way. Mike knew Saul’s players, and Walt had few options left to him. All he needed her to do was to give Jesse a package.

               

                _“Will I need to go over there?”_ she had asked, looking somewhat eager. _“Can’t he come to you? I’ve seen him –”_ but Walter had cut himself off before revealing that he’d followed Jesse to her house. He didn’t want to come off sounding like a stalker. “ _You just call him like you usually do. Meet him here or at his place – actually, your home is best – but all you have to do is make sure he gets the box I’ll leave for you. I should have it ready in a day or two.”_

_“The last time I spoke to him …”_ The girl had bit her lip and cast her eyes towards the top floor, where Walt imagined her son slept. There was a nervous energy to her, but he knew she was gauging the amount of risk to her family. “ _It sounds like Fring is volatile … dangerous. Jesse is afraid of him.”_

“ _That’s why we have to help him_ ,” Walter had assured her. “ _I can’t get near him without being seen by Fring’s men. But you can.”_

In the end, she had agreed, and Walter had left to transport Skyler and the kids off to the airport. For once, Junior hadn’t complained – Skyler’s suggestion that they go and visit her father had been a solution that his son couldn’t argue with. He just needed a few more days and then this would be all over. Jesse would see this through, Walter felt confident in his partner’s resolve. After the horrific events of the day, he couldn’t see Jesse being managed by Fring any longer. Walter let out a deep and labored sigh, suddenly exhausted, and it hooked into another coughing fit. He grabbed for his handkerchief in his back pocket, covering his mouth as his lungs burned and the cab driver turned to give him a worrying glance. It made him visualize Andrea’s face, the concern and fear in her expression as she’d discussed Jesse.

 

                It surprised him, but Walter liked her. She was tough, like his wife; he could see her steeliness in her eyes and the timbre of her voice. She could be good for Jesse, provided they all got out of this alive, and for a brief, incandescent moment Walter saw them all in a vision: Jesse sitting at his dining room table for dinner with Andrea by his side, Skyler unsure but polite as she dished out her potatoes, while Junior asked a litany of questions trying to figure out what his father was doing hanging out with this rough-hewn burnout. The picture in his head was sweet and glowing, and Walter laughed at himself as his throat cleared, the idea that his two lives could ever come together instantly ludicrous. But it was a nice thought. As terrible as it had been discovering Jesse’s assignation, the knowledge had put his relationship with his partner into perspective for Walter and he was glad for it. Jesse was family. It had to mean something that Walter had run into both of Jesse’s parents on two separate occasions not even a few weeks apart. They had given up on their son, but Walter wouldn’t. His partner would always have his back, and Walter knew he could trust Jesse with his life, however much of it was left. That meant everything to him.

 

                “Are you visiting or just coming home?” the cab driver suddenly asked in a thick accent.

 

                “Um … visiting. Do you know of any reputable motels in the area?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

                Someone was stroking his hair.

 

                It felt nice, at first, but then they weren’t so much stroking it as tugging at it, and Jesse had to finally look up to see what they wanted.

 

                “Babe, you’re grinding your teeth again. You really need to get a guard for that.” She looked just like she did before they zipped her up in the bag.

 

                “What are you doing here?” he asked her, staring at the dried vomit on the side of her mouth. “It’s not safe here.”

 

                “No duh, genius. I could ask the same of you.”

 

                Jesse put his hands out to touch her but they were both gone, his arms ending in stubs at the wrist. “I can’t help you,” he said to her. “You’re dead.”

 

                Jane smirked. “Aren’t we all?” There was a slick shine in black, empty eyes. “You seem to have that effect on people, babe.” She turned to look beside her and Jesse followed her gaze, felt sick at the sight. Gale smiled at him gently, a small black hole in the center of his forehead.

 

                “I didn’t want any trouble,” Gale said. “Now look at you.”

 

                “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Jesse tried to explain.

 

                “You never do,” another voice said. Jesse turned to see his aunt sitting in her favorite chair, working on her crossword. “But trouble always seems to follow you, sweetie.” She looked as gaunt and skeletal as she had in her final weeks, the bandana now gone and her head as bald as Mr. White’s.

 

                “Tell me about it,” Jane croaked. “I’ve got four little words for you – don’t be an asshole.”

 

                “Jesse, why would you do this to me? I only want what is best for you.” Gus stood before him, his eyes missing from his face, with only black holes where they should have been. Everyone else had disappeared.

 

                “Jesse. I only care about you,” he pleaded, holding out his hands in entreaty. “I wanted to make you the best you can be. Why, Jesse?” Blood spread from Gus’s heart, soaking his white shirt into crimson like a paint can that had tipped over onto paper. “I can give you all that you desire.”

 

                “I’m sorry,” Jesse whispered back. A cold hand touched his neck and he fought to get away, fought their embrace.

 

                “Don’t go,” he heard Andrea say. He turned to see her face, pale and shattered, the blood still flowing from her throat where a dark line had been slashed. “Don’t leave us. You promised.”

 

                “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I can’t help you.”

 

                He couldn’t help any of them, and as he struggled to get away from their respective clutches, he felt himself sinking, pulled into sludge. His useless arms beat against the air. “I can’t.”

 

                “Yes, you can.” Gus pulled at him as Jesse was sucked into a whirlpool. “Hold on to me, Jesse. Hold on.” For a moment, it sounded like Mr. White, but then Gus lunged for him and Jesse tried to hold on, his arms still flailing. But he had no hands. A pain flared in his gut and he looked down, saw Gus stick the knife deeper.

 

                “Jesse.” _I can't do it, Mr. White._

 

                “Jesse, wake up. Jesse!”

 

                Jesse bolted upright, his heart beating wildly. He opened his eyes to see Gus staring at him in concern.

 

                “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice deep.

 

                Jesse sucked in great gulpfuls of air trying to calm down as his eyes adjusted to the darkened room. A light shone from the bathroom, leaving a bright swath across Gus’s face. Jesse held up his hands in front of him and flexed his fingers, the left ones hurting from the effort as they wriggled above the cast. “I’m sorry,” he said aloud, sounding scratchy. “I can’t – I wasn’t – I … I didn’t mean to wake you.”

 

                “It is okay, you didn't wake me. You were upset, talking in your sleep. How is the pain? Can I get you anything?”

 

                “What time is it?” He still felt bewildered as the dream slowly faded from his senses.

 

                “It is four in the morning.” Gus put his hands atop Jesse’s shoulders to rub them soothingly and Jesse tried not to flinch. “I’ve been up for a while. Tell me, what I can do for you.”

 

                “I’m – I’m fine. It was just a weird dream.” He tried to shift up in the bed and winced.

 

                Gus looked troubled. “I’m going to get you something to help you sleep.”

 

                While Gus was gone, Jesse made another attempt to get comfortable on his side, the ache in his ribs now an insistent throb. He could still feel the residual pressure on his skin from hands tugging at him, and a shudder ran up along his spine. When Gus came back into the room, Jesse took the pills from his hand and downed them with the water Gus offered, knowing better than to resist.

 

                “You were calling for the girl,” Gus said into the silence. Jesse held himself still, worried that he’d divulged something in his nocturnal ramblings. “The dead one,” Gus specified.

 

                Jesse went cold. “Oh.”

 

                “You … you loved her, didn’t you?” Gus spoke softly, his voice again full of feeling.

 

                It hurt too much to answer and Jesse could only nod his head, his throat tight as the dream-Jane swam in his thoughts.

 

                “That kind of loss – I know what that pain is like. It never goes away, does it? A permanent wound that only lessens to a manageable ache.”

 

                “Yeah, I guess.” He didn’t want to talk about Jane, especially not with Gus.

 

                “My dear Maximino,” Gus went on. “So full of life, so wondrous of the world when he would have had every right to be bitter. They killed him in front of me,” Gus said thickly, sounding so emotional that Jesse couldn’t help to feel some empathy.

 

                “I saw the life leave him, that beautiful spark gone from his eyes. The pool turned red with the stain of his blood. It was like losing a part of myself, as if my heart had been ripped from my chest.”

 

                Jesse nodded wordlessly again, seeing Jane’s face underneath him as he’d tried to revive her. Those eyes staring at him accusingly although there was no longer anyone there.

 

                “It is a terrible thing to lose one’s love this way. You are never quite whole again. It takes a long time to feel like you could … ever love another. To be able to open your heart to another’s soul.” Gus’s whispers were like strokes on his flesh.

 

                “Yeah,” Jesse said hoarsely, thinking of Andrea.

 

                Gus reached over to press a delicate thumb to Jesse’s bruised cheek. He said something in Spanish, before suddenly switching to English. “In the center of the earth, I will push aside the emeralds so that I can see you. You like an amanuensis, with a pen of water – copying the green sprigs of plants.” It sounded like he was reciting something and Jesse felt his eyes stretch as he stared back into those black eyes, not sure what he was supposed to say. Gus gave him a saddened smile. “Well. You should get some more rest.”

 

                He helped Jesse lay back down and pulled the duvet over him. Gus leaned down, kissed Jesse on the mouth for a long breath. “I will be close by if you need me,” he whispered before easing off the bed. Gus disappeared into the en suite and a second later the light was shut off, plunging Jesse back into blackness. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, and within minutes, he was fast asleep.

 

 

 

               

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

                This time, someone was kissing the back of his neck.

 

                Jesse stirred in his sleep, waking up behind his eyes. He opened them for a moment, but could barely make anything out in the room, just shadows in the dark. A hand stroked across his breast, over his bandages and down to his stomach and Jesse sucked in a hiss, the sensation feeling pleasurable and delicious. Lips pressed to a spot under his ear, the tip of a tongue sliding across his skin there while ghostly fingers brushed over his pelvis and slid like water down to his cock.

 

                He shot out his hand to hold it, laid it flat against the fingers underneath his, and there was a gentle squeeze, the current of pleasure shooting up into his belly, below his testes and into his nipples. He moved to lie on his back but a sharp stab in his side made him freeze, a groan unleashed into the void of darkness. Hands slid him back to his side, a pillow buffered against his stomach and then one behind him, tucking under him. The material of his pajamas were slipping down his legs, from one side to the other, and as soon as his cock was taken in hand, Jesse arched up his hips, moaned deeply as another wave of pleasure spread through him. Everything still felt like a dream, the drugs taking hold, as his body responded to feeling good for a few fucking seconds, eager to escape the constant thread of pain he’d been dealing with for the last day and a half.

 

                “Please,” Jesse hissed into the dark. “Don’t stop.”

 

                The hand started to work his cock, stroking it languorously as more kisses pattered across his shoulders, down the length of his arm. There was a sudden shift, as his head was moved, an arm slipping under his neck. Jesse felt the buttons of his top being hastily opened, his cock still being slowly jerked at the opposite pace, as if he were being handled by two different people. His chest was bared to the cool air, his nipples plucked and pinched, and Jesse wanted to arch upwards again, made himself lie still so that the sensations were even more exquisite, his body turning to liquid, running like a stream.

 

                Time was unclaimed and inexhaustible as the pleasure went on, growing stronger, the strokes along his body making Jesse think of that glass globe from school, the way the electric charge would sizzle all over it in bright purples and blues with the direction of a finger. His body was shifted again, pressed to the one behind him, and then the hand on his right took over the manipulation of his cock while the other slid between his ass, fingers now pressed up against him. Jesse breathed out in a long groan, wanting to spread his legs but they were caught by the pants at his knees, and then he was being filled, while simultaneously being stroked and kissed and licked and touched and it was all so good, and he wanted to stay here for a while, wanted to give in to it so badly.

 

                At a certain point, there was movement again, Jesse’s head firmly in the clouds, or amongst the waves, or wherever this pleasure was sending him, but he faintly registered someone at the end of the bed, the cold chill as the covers were pulled all the way back, his pajama pants sliding away, over his feet, gone somewhere as he lay there reveling in feeling naked in the dark and his body still snapping away with the rhythms and fissures of his nerves lighting up like streaks, his brain receiving every jolt. His cock was licked and kissed and Jesse cried out, the fingers inside of him pumping away diligently while on the outside, he was still swimming. The skin at his hip bone was sucked and nibbled, trailed over his pelvis, the heel of a hand pressed to his scrotum with enough pressure that Jesse lifted his legs, bent them back even though the pain in his side screamed. But it didn’t matter anymore. He felt only wonderful things.

 

                When they were at his back again, the loss of touch at his groin made him whimper, but then his leg was lifted while he was still on his side. The pressure to fill him was back and slowly it eased in, and then the stroking resumed, his cock so hard, but everything beating, still feeling so deliriously good as he was fucked and stroked. He could hear the moans in the room, knew they were from him, although it was like watching himself in the mirror again, thinking that this was happening to someone else while he simply enjoyed being lost again, floating, in a dream. Then the hand was under the side of his face resting on the bed and his head was wrenched back as a mouth covered his. Gus pressed down on his balls, going deeper inside of Jesse until Jesse could feel their skin fused together. Gus kissed him like a man granted his final wish before death, his tongue so deep, searching for something, unearthing everything that Jesse tried to keep hidden but failed to. Gus could see him, see all of him. Strong hands were soon wrapped to his shoulders as Jesse was held with an iron grip, Gus pumping into him, holding Jesse’s body in place as everything sped up, turned sharper, like daggers, and Jesse saw himself suddenly – saw his likeness dangling in the mirror of Gus’s gym, inverted, spread eagled. The pins in his scrotum gleaming to match the ladder along his prick. The sound in his head as Gus turned up the charge, a whine singing louder as his teeth clenched harder, his jaw turned to metal, the enamel of his teeth feeling like they might crumble into dust at any second as the currents ran through him, his body taut as the pulse increased, the involuntary jerking after it stopped.

 

                Gus had done that to him. And Gus was doing this to him now. And he groaned aloud again, the sound of it filling the room like it might quake the house down. Gus shushed him quiet, held him tighter as he fucked him, kept kissing him wherever his lips landed. But Jesse just wanted to come. He _needed_ to. He just wanted to escape for a little while longer, wanted to keep feeling this, whatever it was, his body flushed, like when his veins had received that first shot of heroin, and he had risen up above the world. The power of an oncoming orgasm was building in him and he deserved this. He said it again in his head, like a mantra. He was just getting off, a little respite for him to wallow in.

 

                “Look at me,” Gus boomed into his ear and Jesse craned his neck, turned back to Gus and opened his mouth to him, kissed him the way Gus was kissing Jesse while Gus continued to jerk him off and fuck him into that place that Jesse needed to go. “You are mine,” Gus hissed as his body pumped faster into Jesse. “You are mine, you are mine!” The pitch of his voice rose with his need, the sound of their bodies slapping together filling Jesse’s head like the sound of the baton coming down, the blood making his skin slick. Jesse felt his body seize up, felt a light explode within him, and then he was blasted apart, he was molecular, atoms floating around the room, light pouring in him, that hit suffusing the nerves in his spine, and everything felt good, the pain was gone, there was nothing but this moment.

 

                Jesse needed this, would always need this, because he was a junkie. He’d never not be one. He would always be looking for this. The realization hit him with the force of his orgasm and as he started to come down, barely cognizant of Gus’s harsh and heavy panting behind him, Jesse’s sob ripped out of him, his weeping a snicker in the dark. He broke down into another fit of tears, so tired of hearing this shit come out of him. He had to get a fucking grip. The pleasure in his body fled in an instant and then the ache was back, Gus’s dick sticky inside of him, feeling unwelcome and invasive. Jesse had given him enough. Jesse had given them all enough.

 

                Gus put his hands around Jesse, curled him into an embrace as he nuzzled Jesse’s ear. “My heart,” he whispered, and for a moment Jesse hoped that it meant Gus’s heart had spasmed, had Gus caught in a painful grip. Another tender kiss to the knob at his neck as Jesse’s crying subsided into sniffles. “I will take care of you,” Gus murmured to him, and for a brief, fleeting second, Jesse wished that were true.

 

* * *

 

 

               

                He felt the diffused light of the morning on his eyes before he opened them.

 

                The room was no different. Like nothing had happened there. Jesse flashed on his own room, wondered what it looked like, if the blood had crusted up on his sheets yet.

 

                He heard footsteps coming up the stairs and when Gus stepped into the room, he was carrying another tray, the smells inviting and making Jesse’s stomach grumble. He felt like he’d only just eaten but he was famished again, and he imagined that his hunger had become another part of Gus’s appetites, even his bodily functions now inexplicably linked to the man.

 

                “Good morning,” Gus said jovially. “How are you feeling today?”

 

                Jesse wanted to stay sullen, feeling like Gus had played a dirty trick on him in the night. But that wouldn’t be very proactive. He turned to look at the window as he answered, wanting to avoid Gus’s gaze. “Um … better. I guess.” He was embarrassed by how easily he’d fallen for Gus’s midnight fooling around. Gus came over to him and set down his tray before tending to the pillows again, plumping them up behind Jesse’s back so he could get comfortable.

 

                “Should I get you something for the pain?” he asked.

 

                “ _No_ ,” Jesse replied a little too forcefully. He didn’t need his head full of cotton around Gus. He had to stay sharp. The pain, at least, kept him alert.

 

                Gus frowned. “Not even aspirin?”

 

                “Really, I’m doing pretty good right now. We’ll see how long it lasts. The rest – it helped.” He couldn’t stop himself from giving Gus a look of disappointment. “Even if someone kept trying to wake me up.”

 

                There was only the barest hint of a smile from Gus. “Well, I am glad to hear that. You seemed to have a pretty vivid nightmare. I could hear you from the other room. We spoke a little bit about it last night. Do you remember?”

 

                “Yeah, I remember.” Gus set the tray across his lap and the aroma of food had his stomach doing more backflips. He started with the glass of juice, his mouth dry like he’d been tweaking all night. “You talked about your boyfriend.” A detail from the conversation floated to the surface. “That must have been hard, seeing them kill him like that. Did Hector shoot him?”

 

                “Yes. Point blank, to the head.”

 

                “Shit,” Jesse commented. “That’s rough.” He saw a vision of Gale’s surprised face, after the gun had blasted. “I had to do that. Shoot a guy in the face. It was terrible.”

 

                “They wanted to kill me, for offending Don Eladio, but I was spared because of my connections to Pinochet and the government’s influence in the drug market,” Gus continued, as if Jesse’s commiseration meant nothing.

 

                “Yeah, that’s still pretty messed up.” He took a deep breath as he prepared to bite into one of Gus’s pumpkin pancakes. They really were rather tasty. “I still can’t believe that’s how you learned your business. How do you go from interrogations to, like, running cocaine? And you were supposed to be the police? What else did you have to do?”

 

                Gus had seated himself on the bed, and he shrugged with the question, also taking a sharp breath. “A great many things. Much of it, believe it or not, revolved around administrative duties. The reports were notoriously sloppy. It drove me crazy. It became a joke, how little the offices kept records. The idea was for people to disappear, and no one wanted to be connected to a name or a file after the body was disposed of. I left for Mexico a few years before the vote that kicked Pinochet out, but things had already progressed to an untenable situation for me. The opposition was growing louder and more organized. I – I had a post that did not go very well. Max was despondent. Pilar was demanding to take the girls out of the country. My brother’s involvement with the attempted assassination – it did not help my career.”

 

                Jesse spoke through a mouth full of food. “What post?” he asked, curious in spite of the subject matter. If anything, Gus knew how to tell a story.

 

                Gus said nothing for a beat, had that faraway look in his eyes like the question had taken him back into the recesses of his deranged memories.

 

                “It was a … I suppose you would call it a commune? It was run by a very charismatic figure, a man named Paul Schäfer. The place … it was near the mountains, just outside of Parral, along the Perquilauquén River. Very secluded and totally isolated from the rest of civilization,at the time. He was a German expatriate. The rumor was that he had apparently worked for Hitler, but was now a preacher, the supposedly benevolent leader of the German families he brought with him to a new land.”

 

                “A preacher leading a commune in the middle of nowhere, huh? This set up doesn’t sound very promising,” Jesse said.

 

                “Yes. It was like that man, in Guyana. The Jonestown event. Although Schäfer never urged his followers to commit suicide for God. He was more interested in … the _youth_ of the community. But he had many talents. And he knew how to make friends, not unlike our President. I was sent out there to train with a group, met with old members of DINA where they had set up a facility to bring in prisoners. Schäfer was learned in a certain practice. One that we could use. Only the very best of us were sent there, those that had shown a knack for … what we did.”

 

                Jesse swallowed his pancake with a hard gulp, reaching for his juice. “A former Nazi running a torture camp? How fun for you. Is that like promising Space Camp to American kids who do well in school?”

 

                “Not quite. In our roles for the CNI, we were expected to do whatever was necessary to retrieve information. For many of us, it was welcome exposure to top officials in the program. An American was there while I did my training. He was CIA. I had many conversations with him, a very curious fellow. His father was an engineer for the Ford Motor company back in the US. He not only designed the chamber where we took our … prisoners, he played something of the state executioner. He eventually went to trial for murdering a Chilean ambassador.”

 

                “Jesus. Are you serious?” Jesse said, still bothered by the US connection to Gus’s history lessons.

 

                “His name was Townley. He was a favorite with Schäfer, they spent much time together. But seeing how the compound worked, how the people there were conditioned, the children segregated from their parents as soon as they were born – it was … uncomfortable to watch.”

 

                “What did you have to do there? I mean, I thought you were already top dog in the whole grill thing. It’s pretty effective,” he said in a nasty tone. “How many more ways did you have to learn how to torture someone?”

 

                “You would be surprised,” Gus said drolly. He shook his head with another shrug of his shoulders. “But I did not care what we did to the political dissidents. It was the way he … managed the children that I did not care for.”

 

                “Ew. Is this heading where I think its heading?”

 

                “Probably,” Gus muttered. “The entire place was this idyllic little German village, like something out of _Hansel and Gretel._ But there was evil that ran underneath the façade, in the very ground, where the bodies were buried. I got to leave on the weekends, to go back home, and I was staying at the nearest city, where Max and I shared a villa. He could see I was troubled. The interrogations were particularly brutal. But this did not only happen to the prisoners we brought with us to question. I saw the schools, the rooms where the children were sent when they disobeyed. Schäfer liked to describe his followers as one big family, but he did not allow the actual families to be together. Children had no connection to their parents other than their birth. They were all servants of their ‘ _permanent uncle’,_ as they called him. In order to condition them to believe, to act appropriately in their little society, the older children who misbehaved would be sequestered in the infirmary, given mind altering drugs. There was the use of chemicals in their punishments, much like we were shown in our training. In fact, we were shown how to use chemical warfare. Terrible things put in their eyes, burns on their bodies.” Gus looked disturbed, gazing at something that wasn’t there as his voice took on a drone-like quality. He shook himself to cast off his memories. “But it soon became obvious which children were the favorites of Schäfer. Many of us in our group had noticed, but Townley confirmed it for me. Schäfer would call them his runners. Young boys that he would send all over the compound with messages for his flock, were distinguished by his affection for them. There was one boy,” Gus halted with a suck of his breath. “He was a shy one, but sweet. His face reminded me of Mateo when he was young. Schäfer would sometimes sit the boy on his lap at dinner, the rest of us watching while we tried to swallow our food.”

 

                Gus turned to Jesse with haunted eyes. “The boy’s name was also Gustavo,” he shared. “I would take walks sometimes in the forest, when our training was done for the day. The boy would seek me out and we would talk. I developed something of a bond with him.”

 

                Jesse was now totally enraptured, his food forgotten. “What happened to him? What did you do?”

 

                There was a great sigh as Gus heaved his weariness. “One of the elders saw us walking together and reported it. Schäfer accused me of unholy acts,” Gus laughed in disdain. “But it was the boy who was punished. He was taken away and I feared that something terrible would befall him. I was due to leave for the weekend, and Schäfer complained to the higher ups, did not want me back as I had ‘contaminated’ his pet. I left, but in my despair, I confided in Max. He insisted we do something to help get the boy out.”

 

                “And did you? Yo, surely you did something? Capped that pedo’s ass or cranked up the electric charge on his balls. Tell me you fucked him up, Gus!” Jesse cried.

 

                Gus didn’t answer right away, dragged the minute out until Jesse was leaning forward, craning his head.

 

                “We contacted a friend. One who lived in Argentina. Before I went back, we made plans to smuggle the boy out, but the papers would not be ready right away, not before Monday, at any rate. I spoke to Mamo on the phone, assured him that Schäfer was only upset that I had figured out his secret and that I was quite prepared to finish my training, that I would stay near the chamber and avoid the camps. When I returned, I asked Townley to find out where the boy was being held.” Gus reached over to take away Jesse’s tray and set it on the floor, in front of the nightstand. He sat back and drew closer to Jesse, resting a hand over Jesse’s thigh. “Townley had one of the girls take me to see him. The boy had been …” Gus stopped again, suddenly looking quite guilty as he blinked back at Jesse.

 

                “The boy had been what?” Jesse asked impatiently.

 

                “He’d been beaten. He was obviously drugged. I tried to speak with him but he had trouble following my words. I knew I had to get him out.”

 

                “So … what did you end up doing? Did that CIA guy help you?”

 

                “I told him nothing of my plans. But one of the other soldiers who had been driving prisoners into the commune, I paid him to let me drive with him. I convinced the others that I needed to take a prisoner back to Tejas Verde, to set up a ruse in which he would be exposed to another political prisoner that had worked in his organization. I insisted that it would facilitate the confession we needed, to gain the whereabouts of their group if one could be played against the other. Betrayal can make people turn on each other very quickly.”

 

                “Yeah. So I’ve heard,” Jesse commented dryly.

 

                “I left in the night, but I had the aid of two of the nurses. They helped me hide the boy in the truck, after the prisoner had been secured in the back. I drove him straight into town, with Max waiting to take him to Santiago, where they would meet with their contact before flying out. The boy was sent to stay with our friends, and we later discovered that his parents had not even been at the compound, but had escaped years before.”

 

                “Holy shit, for real? Did they eventually reunite? Please tell me they found each other again.”

 

                “Yes,” Gus confirmed with a nod of his head. “He was given back to his parents. Max stayed in Argentina while they looked for them. I think that the whole experience rejuvenated him. But I was in a precarious situation once young Gustavo was discovered missing. I went back to Santiago to deal with my family. Shortly after, Max and I fled the country.”

 

                “No fucking way. That’s like –” Jesse felt the tiniest bit impressed that Gus could do something so heroic. “That’s amazing. But please tell me that dude ended up getting majorly whacked. Like, some of his followers used his torture machines on him, or whatever.”

 

                “No,” Gus sniffed. “He was accused of perversions against children, eventually. Twenty six counts of child molestation, I believe. This, of course, happened much, much later. Not until the nineties.”

 

                “Well, thank fucking God.” Jesse leaned back against the pillows, feeling the glow of justice properly served. But Gus sat stiffly, strangely silent as he stared at the floor in that stone-like way of his. Suddenly, he looked up to Jesse and there were tears in his eyes. Jesse gaped at him in disbelief, staggered by Gus’s emotional nakedness.

 

                “I’m sorry,” Gus said to him in a clotted voice. “That is not what happened.”

 

                “Wh-what?” Jesse stared dumbfounded. “The whole story? Or the end?”

 

                “The boy died,” Gus said with finality. “They made him drink something. It burned out his throat, all down his esophagus. I could not help him.”

 

                It was quiet in the room, Jesse’s shock ringing in his ears. “Yo,” he finally said. “Why would you lie to me?”

 

                “I was ashamed,” Gus admitted, actual tears falling from his eyes. He turned to Jesse, his expression hard. “To kill a child … this is a terrible, terrible thing.”

 

                Jesse felt a chill run through him bone deep. “Was the kid even called Gus?” he questioned. “Or did you just say that?”

 

                “I want to be honest with you, Jesse. No more secrets between us,” Gus said with great gravity. “His name _was_ Gustavo. Gustavo Fring.”

 

                Jesse narrowed his eyes at Gus. “What? You’re telling me this kid had your exact name?”

 

                “No, we shared only a first name,” Gus clarified as he wiped at his eyes. “I … was not known as Fring yet.” He sighed heavily, rubbed at his legs. “I changed my name when I came to the United States, with the boy's doctored papers. It was not safe to use my real name. I am still on record working for the CNI.”

 

                Stunned for the moment, Jesse's mouth dropped open. It made sense, but it had never even occurred to Jesse that Gus was not who he said he was. “Wow.” He paused as his mind raced to catch up. “So … what’s your real name, then?”

 

                But Gus ran his hand down Jesse’s leg in a familial gesture, patting him at the knee. “You should get some more rest. You did not get enough last night. I will get you some aspirin.”

 

                “Seriously, I’m _fine,_ I don’t need any more sleep,” he griped, still bothered by Gus’s story. “I think I want to get up, though. Maybe go outside on the deck. Is that cool?”

 

                “It is getting chilly out there. Perhaps we can adjourn to the living room, where we can watch some television? Or we could listen to music. Whatever you would like.”

 

                “You got the Discovery Channel?” Jesse asked. He needed to watch something about baboons mating or killer whales eating sharks to get his mind off things.

 

                “Yes, I believe I do,” Gus said with a smile. “Although I tend to watch the History Channel myself.”

 

                “Nah, I’ve heard enough history, thanks,” Jesse cracked. Between Gus and Walter, he now had a ton of useless information about the world. "Besides, _Ice Road Truckers_ doesn't start again til next month."

 

                “Well, then let us get you downstairs.”

 

                “Wait a moment. You think I could,” and he glanced longingly at the en suite, still feeling dirty from Gus’s affections in the night. “Maybe take a bath?”

 

                “With your bandages and cast? I can give you a sponge bath, instead.”

 

                “No, that’s okay. I don’t care if my bandages get wet. And I just need to put a plastic bag over the plaster. It’s not like I never broke a bone before. You shoulda seen me when I was fourteen. I was just getting into skateboarding that year and I was trying to do a flip on the half pipe. I was totally airbound for like, a minute, before I lost my board and landed on my arm wrong. My parents were so pissed. I had girls all over me the entire time I had my arm in a cast, best summer ever, yo. An injury like this draws pussy like moths to a flame.”

 

                Gus raised an eyebrow, looking amused. “I will take your word for it,” he said. “Now, let me draw your bath.”

 

                It was later, as Gus lazily rubbed a washcloth over him that Jesse decided to return to the subject. He didn’t want the conversation to get depressing again, and he was still perturbed by what had happened during the night. Not just the sex, but the dream still persisted in his thoughts.

 

                “Hey, Gus. Can I ask you something?” He was leaning back against the tub, a plastic shell behind his shoulders like a pillow, his arms stretched along the rim while Gus worked.

 

                “You may ask me whatever you like.”

 

                “So … I know you said you wondered about who Victoria’s real dad is, but … I mean, obviously, for a while anyway, you and your wife were going at it pretty hard. You liked her at one time, right? Were you ever … like, did she turn you on at all? Or did you just have to, like, imagine hot, naked dudes so you could get it up for her?”

 

                Gus seemed surprised by the question, but he turned to Jesse in full seriousness, appearing to consider it thoughtfully. “I did feel attraction for her. Pilar is a beautiful woman. But it is the way she is – strong, proud – that drew me to her. And,” Gus shrugged his shoulders with a pragmatic frown. “She was adventurous. Our sex life was never dull. She was open to a lot of things.”

 

                Jesse sat up straighter, the water sloshing at the sides of the tub. “Seriously?” He was suddenly fascinated. “Like, would you do the same things with her that you do to me?”

 

                Gus was trying not to be amused again. “Not e _xactly,”_ he said with a sly grin.

 

                “Like, you know what I mean. Did she let you do the kinky stuff on her? Did you ever … like, hang her from the ceiling? Stuff like that. Although … yo, did you ever go _down on her?”_

“Sometimes,” Gus admitted coyly. “At the beginning of our courtship, quite often.”

 

                Jesse slapped the back of his hand against Gus’s arm. “Dude! This is like, big news. I thought you were, like, totally gay.”

 

                “I am gay. But this does not mean that I cannot be attracted to a woman,” he insisted.

 

                “So, like, you’re bi, then?”

 

                “I don’t see it that way,” Gus said as his eyes ran the length of Jesse’s body. “I will always prefer to be with a man.” He reached over to rub at Jesse’s good cheek. “Especially very good looking ones.”

 

                “I’m alright,” Jesse said with a roll of his eyes. “I’m no pretty boy. And that’s fine with me.”

 

                “Women definitely find you attractive,” Gus teased. “And our friends at the club were very taken with you.”

 

                Jesse dropped his head back. “Ugh, gross. Don’t talk about that shit. I don’t care what I look like, man. We were talking about you eating pussy.”

 

                “Why are you interested in this? In my marriage?”

 

                “I’m not; just, like, the _mechanics_ of it, I guess. Did you ever get used to it? Banging a chick, I mean. Like, have you ever had sex with another woman that wasn’t your wife?”

 

                “A few times. With Max.”

 

                “Really? So, you two, like, did the girl together? Or you watched? Like, what was the deal?”

 

                “No,” Gus said sharply. “Max was never with anyone but me, once we were together. But … during the halcyon days of our travels, we were sometimes involved with underground groups. Sex clubs that catered to our predilections. I had many pursue me, because of my … talents. And some of them were women.”

 

                “ _Talents_? Holy shit, what did you do? Like, was this a performance or something? You’d whip Max or some guy in front of everyone and then it was all sexy times for an orgy or whatever?”

 

                “Something like that. That world is very strict. There are rules to the kind of play you are allowed to share with others. Some participants had a problem with my style. But nevertheless, I had those that wished for my disciplined hand. And I would allow Max to be involved only in a subservient role. Oral would be condoned, but no penetration.”

 

                Jesse’s imagination started to run rampant with wild visions of him and Gus in a room full of strangers, Gus stringing him up in front of everyone like he did in the gym. “What do you mean? Like, you made Max suck other people off?”

 

                “Max wanted to please me. He did what I asked of him with no complaints.”

 

                “And you like that?” Jesse questioned in doubt. “You really want some robot, that’s all, like, yes master, no master? That kind of shit? I thought you were into strength and a backbone?”

 

                “I have changed over the years,” Gus replied. “And my needs have changed, too. I loved Max very much, but he needed to be dominated. This was what he required. Perhaps it was his past that informed such a need, but he enjoyed the pain I administered, sought only to please me. However, he did not possess quite the …” Gus raised another eyebrow. “The same _fire_ as you. You question things. You stand up for yourself. This is a quality that is very attractive to me.” He shrugged again, as he brought the washcloth up over Jesse’s bandages and rubbed it across his nipples. “When I am able to … elicit your submission, to see you give in to me. This is exceptionally powerful. To be able to bring this out of you, this is more satisfying than anything I’ve felt in a long while. Even dealing with my enemies was not as sweet as seeing your face when the pleasure hits you.” He glanced up at Jesse and locked eyes with him. “When I left Chile, I was ready to be done with that life. It no longer held any fascination for me. But I could not escape the feelings it left in me. That power over a life. Seeing a person change before me. I see you, Jesse, and how you have changed from the first time I laid eyes on you. One day soon, you will shine so bright. I look at you and I am … filled with hope.”

 

                “Are we talking the sex stuff or the business stuff?” Jesse felt pinned by Gus’s gaze, his lungs feeling airless.

 

                “All of it. You are my diamond.”

 

                Jesse swallowed hard. “O-kay. But … like, are you gonna make me suck other guys’ dicks?”

 

                Gus went back to washing him. “We do not need to think about that yet. We have to let you heal. There is new business to prepare for.”

 

                “Sure, but I’m just wonderin’. For like, the future and all. I mean, if you need to make me service someone, you could totally make me go down on, like, a row of chicks. I’d get into that. You could even break out the riding crop. Hell, I’d even let you go electro on my ass, while my tongue is up a dozen chicks’ twats? Totally works for me.”

 

                Gus started to look annoyed with the discussion. “I say what you do,” he said sternly. “And for now, we will focus on you getting better.”

 

                “Sorry.” Jesse lay back against the tub, the drops trickling from his arms echoing as they landed in the water. “I was just thinking ahead. But you know … it just makes me think about stuff.”

 

                “What _stuff_?”

 

                “I don’t know. Just what it would feel like. Getting balled deep while some girl is riding my dick? That’s gotta feel … like, kind of amazing. Have you ever done that?”

 

                “No.” Gus stood up suddenly. “I think you are done here. It’s time to get out. Let me get your robe before I help you up.”

 

                As Gus helped him out of the bathtub, Jesse leaned over and kissed Gus on the cheek, nuzzling into his neck after. “Thanks,” he whispered. “For talking to me. I feel better. I don't want you mad at me anymore.”

 

                Gus turned to him, his eyes warming to him immediately. “Of course.” His expression melted into a smile. “Now let us go downstairs and I will make us some espressos.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can read about Colonia Dignidad here  
> https://theamericanscholar.org/the-torture-colony/#.VQs9XuF2WSp There's a movie coming out soon about this very place, starring Emma Watson. Creepy but fascinating. 
> 
> I have a feeling I'm going to need some extra chapters than what I have posted, but I'm not really sure yet, it depends on how the next one goes. So it's doubtful 37 will be the last one, but I don't have any idea how many more. 
> 
> Hey, can I just say you guys are the best? I was going over early comments and the long replies people have had. I'm really so fortunate. Thanks again, everyone.


	37. The Call

 

_For what it's worth, getting the shit kicked out of you? Not to say you get used to it, but ... you do kinda get used to it._

 

 

                Jesse was laid out on the couch, afloat on a sea of pillows, when Gus sailed into the living room. He handed the boy more aspirin and a glass of juice and Jesse took them obediently, his eyes never straying from the television screen. The narrator of the nature show he was watching was talking about the emotional intelligence of elephants as the camera swept across a herd of them, while Jesse seemed to absorb the information with intensity. He barely acknowledged Gus as he handed back the half empty glass.

 

                Gus sighed as he stared at the boy’s ruined face again. He should never have hit Jesse there. He recalled the one time he had beaten Pilar – after Mateo’s funeral – and how marring that perfect visage had been like kicking a foot through a Vermeer, the bruises later on mocking his loss of self control. He didn’t like it when his emotions got the better of him. It was sloppy. Primitive. But the boy brought it out in him. Gus was aware that he was tied to Jesse completely now. The young man was his responsibility. Jesse had rejected Walter – Gus could see it in his eyes – and in its place was the need for Gus’s approval. Jesse had made his choice even after the abuse, and this was a strong lesson for Gus. He understood that Jesse came back to him because he needed Gus, needed to belong to someone. His curiosity in Gus’s sexuality further signaled a growing acceptance of his own desires.

 

                “I wish you would use the ice pack to bring down the swelling,” he said, sitting down in the wing back chair next to the sofa. “At least let me change the bandages over your stitches.”

 

                “What’s the matter? You don’t think I’m handsome anymore?” Jesse joked as he tilted his head back. Gus didn’t answer and Jesse shrugged cavalierly. “I’ve had bashes to the face plenty. The swelling will go down in a day or two. Don’t need to freeze my eyeball off, in the meantime. I’m more concerned with my ribs.”

 

                Gus smarted from the comment, his remorse still fertile. “I have a friend at the hospital,” he said conversationally. “One of the doctors at Presbyterian. He was able to get a look at your records and relay the injuries to me,” Gus admitted. “You’ve had these fractures before.”

 

                “Yeah,” Jesse sighed. He turned back to the tv. “Don’t feel too guilty about the beat-down, Gus. Everybody does it.”

 

                “What does this mean?” Gus asked with a frown.

 

                “It means I’m used to it. If anyone’s gonna get the shit kicked out of them, it’s usually going to be me. That’s just the way it is.”

 

                “And you accept this? I thought you were a fighter.”

 

                Jesse’s eyebrows stitched into a wavy line as he studied Gus for a beat. “What is _that_? Some kind of reverse psychology bullshit? I thought you’d be the first one to tell me to suck it up and take my punishment like a man. Hasn’t that been the whole point of your _training_?” Jesse questioned as he dropped his fingers into air quotes. “I sure as shit ain’t gonna cry about it.”

 

                Gus couldn’t let the comment lie, contemplating Jesse’s mental state. “I never meant for you to simply accept your fate. You can make the choice to be a willing participant in what happens to you, or you can give up. It concerns me to hear you speak this way. A man must always demand respect, even when he is submitting to another.”

 

                “Like, what’s the difference? And what are you suggesting I do about it? Weren’t you the one who said that I had to accept things the way they are and make the best of the situation? And now what, you want me to pick a fight with you? I’m kinda incapacitated here.” Jesse shook his head, appearing confused. “You can’t have it both ways, Gus. I can’t be a boss _and_ do everything you say, no matter how fucked up it is. I mean, what do you even want from me?”

 

                “You know what it is I want,” Gus answered, leaning forward as he reached for Jesse’s arm. “I don’t want you to merely follow orders. I want you to be invested in the outcome, to see the value of it. To see your own worth. “

 

                “So, like, I have to be really _into_ it, I can’t just go through the motions for you, is that it? Jeez, tall order much?”

 

                “No, you are not listening,” Gus insisted impassionedly. “I am strengthening you. I am taking your best qualities and refining you. You admitted as much yourself.”

 

                But Jesse only laughed bitterly. “Right,” he sneered, waving a hand over his cheek. “This is all kinds of refining here.”

 

                “You know why this happened,” Gus said calmly. “Your former partner’s interference. But he is gone now. As you said, Jesse, this is just you and me. We can continue our work and move forward.”

 

                Jesse’s eyes widened. “Our _work?_ Is that what you call it? Like what went on last night? That kind of work?”

 

                Gus propelled himself out of the seat and knelt before Jesse. “I cannot help that,” he said. “I want to show you affection. All of the time. I want to touch you, to be near you.” He bent his head and kissed Jesse’s arm. “I need you,” he whispered into the warm patch of skin at his lips.

 

                “Well …” Jesse seemed suddenly unsure of himself. “That’s cool and all, Gus, but you still fucked me up real bad, so … you gotta give me a breather, you know? I’m a little freaked out.”

 

                “I know.” Gus leaned over farther so he could place another kiss to Jesse’s hip, puckering the silk of the boy’s pajamas with the heat of his breath. “I will take things slower. I wish only to make you feel good.”

 

                “Really?” Jesse’s forehead wrinkled as he peered at Gus, his tone doubtful yet still seeking assurance. “You promise?”

 

                “I do.” Gus bent to kiss him lower, pressing lips to the line of Jesse’s thigh that ran near his cock. Gus turned his head and ran his tongue along the length of him. After a moment, Jesse pressed his hand to the back of Gus’s head.

 

                “What are you doing?”

 

                “Making you feel good,” Gus answered, flicking his tongue around the head now outlined under the material of Jesse’s pajamas.

 

                “Do that again,” he urged in a throaty whisper, his body shifting above the pillows so that a few were squeezed from the mass and dropped to the floor. Gus cupped Jesse’s balls through the silk and breathed heavy over the lump there until he saw it stir. He placed another kiss on the growing bulge and watched it take definition, while Jesse struggled to sit upright.

 

                “Lay back and relax,” Gus said, applying pressure on the boy’s abdomen to keep him flat. He made Jesse straighten his body out before sliding down his pajamas. Jesse’s erection broke free and the boy sucked in his breath in anticipation. Gus bent down to kiss the tip of his prick, the studs of silver gleaming along with the fluid daubed at the slit. He caressed the insides of Jesse’s legs as he tongued the underside of his hard-on until the boy opened them a little wider.

 

                “Hold on. Just – just blow me, okay?” Jesse pleaded softly. “Don’t fuck me yet. Please. I’m not … ready for that.”

 

                Gus gave a nod of his head before he engulfed the boy right down to the root.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

                It was later, as the two of them dined on the meat sandwiches that Gus had brought from the kitchen, that Jesse considered approaching the topic of sexual politics with him once more, his mind churning with questions. For a delusional moment, Jesse had imagined that he could exert some control over the sex while Gus was still showing signs of remorse, that by relegating it to a blowjob, he might gain some satisfaction of having Gus service him for a change. But it didn’t quite turn out that way, as it never did. Gus had worked him as if he possessed some deep understanding of everything that Jesse wanted to feel. Fantasies of making Gus choke on his dick did little to arouse him; they only left him feeling more battered by his circumstance. Even with the request for a simple blowjob, Gus had managed to penetrate him, fingers stuffed inside Jesse as he sucked him off with a ferocity that was impressive, and Jesse had come hard enough that his body ached from the after effects, his self-loathing just another deep throb buried in muscle.

 

                “Hey, Gus. Can I ask you something?”

 

                The side of Gus’s mouth curved up as he turned to him. “But of course.”

 

                “Why are you smiling? Did I say something funny?’

 

                “No,” Gus assured. “But I am finding that whenever you begin with this line, I invariably enjoy the ensuing conversation.” He smiled warmly at Jesse. “You do not have to ask permission to ask me anything, however.”

 

                “Well, whatever, I was just thinking about things.”

 

                Gus set his plate of food on the coffee table then picked up the remote to turn down the volume of the program they were watching. “What kinds of things?”

 

                Jesse felt a note of trepidation attempting to engage Gus in a discussion on dominance but his curiosity overtook him. “Like, you, I guess. I’m just trying to figure you out.”

 

                “What is there to figure out? I have told you all about my past.”

 

                “Yeah, I know. And it’s all been really … educational. But some things I still don’t get about you. Like … you being down for gobbling up my dick like it’s a Fudge Pop. I thought you were all about being in control and ruling over men, and that kind of shit. How can you be so quick to get on your knees? It, like, doesn’t compute. You can’t exactly be alpha dog when you’re going down on the pole.”

 

                “You believe that you are the one in control when I do this with you?” Gus asked with some amusement. “Is that how you see it?”

 

                Jesse shrugged in exaggeration, but he knew that Gus had him there. “I don’t know. I mean, I guess not. You do what you want. But … isn’t that like a … what do you call it? Like a contradiction? How can you want one thing but then get off on something totally opposed to that other thing?”

 

                “I know very little of the type of women you have been with, but if they were doing it correctly, then the act would not be a submissive one. It is the very essence of power. I have your most vulnerable part of you between my teeth. I can coax you into feeling what I want you to feel. This is what attracts me. That and hearing the noises you make when I do something you like. Where I am positioned makes no difference.”

 

                Jesse could feel his cheeks grow hot but continued on. “Yeah, fine, but that’s not how most guys see it. And what about how you freaked out when I tried to get on top for once? What was that? You want me to suck you off like I’m your little slave boy, but when you do it it’s all about power? How come? You know, I like to call the shots, too. I get it, the thrill of it … being the one in charge. I can totally dig that. I can play that guy.”

 

                “What are you suggesting?” Gus regarded him coolly as he leaned against the couch, laying his arm across the back casually.

 

                “Nothing. I’m just … interested, is all. Like, how do you know to do those things to me? How do you know when to pull back? What signs to look for? I mean, it’s not that simple, right? You gotta really pay attention to what you’re doing. To make sure you don’t go overboard. And you’ve got all these special skills, man. I … I tried some of it. With someone who was into it. You know, being dominated.”

 

                Gus’s expression hardened. “I know this.”

 

                “Right. Yeah, I forgot for a sec. But … that was what she wanted. And at first I wasn’t cool with it, but then … I don’t know. She would get so wet, just freaky hot over everything I did to her. It was kind of awesome to watch, and then I’d want to do more, want to try other things to get her even more worked up. Is that what it’s like for you?” Jesse nervously reached out to brush Gus’s arm with his fingertips. “You spend a lot of time watching me when we’re doing stuff. What do you see?”

 

                “I see … many things. Passion. Need. The desire to be accepted. Wanted. You don’t hold anything back. You need to be challenged, but you glow when I am pleased with you. You want to show me that you are capable, that you are worthy. And you are. You are magnetic when you suffer. I want to spend hours, even days, doing things to you, just so I can watch that face.”

 

                Jesse gulped painfully as Gus finished, his throat feeling swollen from fear. He didn’t want to go through another session like the one before Walter’s disaster. He needed to find a way to steer Gus away from such ideas.

 

                “Well … maybe. A little. I’m not as hot for the suffering part as you are. But … what if … I mean, do you think you could show me some of that? Those knots, for example. The guy who taught you how to do them – just how long did it take for you to become a pro at it? And then there’s the equipment in your closet. Like, how are all of those supposed to work?”

 

                Gus was bewildered for a moment. “You … wish to learn how to do this?”

 

                “Yeah.”

 

                “On whom?” Gus questioned, his eyes narrowing. “You know you must stop seeing the girl.”

 

                “On whomever you want,” Jesse added quickly. “It doesn’t have to be Andrea. You can pick someone out. But … you know, after I’m trained. When I’m good at it.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Probably take me a while to learn, though.”

 

                Gus was unnaturally still as he considered Jesse’s request. After a long moment, he turned to face Jesse, his feelings on the matter guarded once again. “We shall see. We have other things to worry about, first.” He reached for his plate of food and turned the volume back up again, the discussion closed, and Jesse fell back into deep thought as the blare from the television washed over him.

 

* * *

 

 

                Gus was bringing Jesse some coffee and more aspirin when they both heard the buzz from his pants pocket. He handed off the pills with the mug and quickly jammed his hand in his pocket to retrieve it.

 

                “Tell me,” he said into the phone.

 

                Jesse pretended his focus was still on the television while his ears pricked to Gus’s response to the caller.

 

                “Are you sure? He was on the plane?” There was only the sound of muted chatter from the tv for a moment as Gus listened. “This is good. Very good. Send Tyrus to Brillante for today and have him oversee the last of the deliveries. I will need you to set up a meeting at the farm with Barrera’s man so we can go over the details of the new route. He should be arriving in a few days.”

 

                There was silence again while the other person was talking and Jesse’s nerves sang as he waited to find out more. Gus darted a look his way with a wary expression. “Fine,” he said into his cell before holding it out to Jesse. “Mike would like a word with you.”

 

                Confused, Jesse sat up straighter to take the phone. “Hello?”

 

                “It’s me, kid,” Mike answered with his usual gruffness. “How are you doing?”

 

                “Um, fine?” Jesse glanced up at Gus who was staring back at him with intensity.

 

                “Look, I know Gus is standing right there listening so I’m going to keep this brief. Your girl got a hold of me. She wants to talk to you. I’m trying to arrange a meet. She’s got a package for you, she says. Do you know what that means? Say, ‘I appreciate that, Mike,’ if you do.”

 

                “I appreciate that, Mike,” Jesse repeated dutifully.

 

                “You’re going to tell Gus that I checked up on her and the kid at your urging, and that she was looking for you at your house. That’s all we talked about here. We’re not going to mention Walter again, understand?”

 

                “Okay.” Jesse’s heart quickened as he struggled to remain unmoved by the news. He wanted to ask a dozen more questions but he stayed quiet, feeling Gus’s glare warming the side of his face.

 

                “I have something for you, in case you need it in an emergency. See if you can get out of the house tonight. It’ll be down at the end of the garden, on the back side of Gus’s tool shed. You won’t be able to miss the package, but you’ll need to find somewhere to hide it inside the house, to have close by. Oh, and one more thing. I put your cell phone in your bag. I shut it off, but you’ll want to keep it with you, got it? Now, give the phone back to Gus so I can finish talking to him.”

 

                He did as instructed and Gus snatched it up, finishing the conversation with Mike while his gaze stayed glued to Jesse. The upbeat notes of a commercial’s jingle drifted from the television as Jesse’s attention went inward, his thoughts on Andrea and what she may have said to Mike. He heard the call end and watched nervously as Gus sat himself at the other end of the couch, studying Jesse with reservation.

 

                “What did Mike want with you?” Gus asked baldly.

 

                “Um, he was, uh, checking in on Andrea and Brock for me. Making sure they were okay.” Jesse took a sip of the now lukewarm coffee, still feeling those eyes crawling all over him like ants. He returned the penetrating stare, determined for Gus to believe him. “She was at my house, he said. Looking for me. Walter didn’t bring my cell to the hospital with me, so I figure she’s probably been calling wondering where I am.” He did his best to look earnest. “Mike wanted to let me know he put my phone in my bag, so … I’m sure there’s a ton of messages waiting for me. Should I call her?”

 

                Gus pondered the question for a beat. “Well, you will need to speak with her eventually.”

 

                “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking,” Jesse added. “If I’m calling it quits with her, better to have that conversation sooner rather than later.”

 

                “You seem … remarkably okay with this,” Gus commented shrewdly. “I expected some disagreement from you on the matter.”

 

                There was a brief second of panic before Jesse could think of an answer. He looked to the truth again to inform his explanation. “I thought so, too; that I would have a problem with this. But … then I thought that … you’ve made it pretty clear how much you want me around. And … I like that. I like the vision you have for me, you know? In your organization, as well as … the other stuff. Without the deal, without you punishing me anymore, it seems like things could be different. I mean, I care about Andrea, I do. She’s a good person. And I don’t want to see her or Brock get hurt. But I’m not in love with her. And being with her … it’s not the same as being with you.”

 

                It was subtle, but Jesse could see the tension in Gus’s face relax, his expression close to demure as a tinge of a smile appeared. He shifted closer to Jesse, brushed the back of his hand against a cheek before he bent in to kiss him.

 

                “I am relieved that you feel this way,” he murmured to him, their foreheads pressed together. “I can give you everything, Jesse. Show you so much. I can teach you the desires you seek. Lay pleasure on your body until you are swimming in it.”

 

                “I know,” Jesse said with his heart pounding in his ears. “I dig that, too. No one’s ever made me feel like you do, Gustavo.” He leaned in for another kiss, soft and tentative, just a brush of lips against the other. Suddenly Gus was gripping his neck, holding him close, and the kiss became ravenous, his mouth pressed so hard upon Jesse’s that he was pushed back against the sofa. Jesse made an attempt to wrench his head away, terror flaring through him. “Wait.” He flattened his good hand against Gus’s chest to stop him. “You promised we’d take it slow.”

 

                “But I want you,” Gus breathed, his mouth moving to Jesse’s neck to suckle on the flesh there as hands moved across Jesse’s body.

 

                “It’s too soon,” Jesse tried again, leaning his head back as Gus ran a tongue along his jaw and under his chin. He felt removed from the room for a moment, could see Gus holding him down on his bed, spreading his legs as he got on top of him, but suddenly imagined Walter nearby listening to the whole thing. Ice spread to his limbs as he heard Walter’s words ringing in his head. _He raped you, Jesse._ He didn’t want to believe it; tried to convince himself that he was used to Gus doing what he wanted to his body regardless of consent. He had to accept that he was complicit in what happened to him. He alone had made those choices. But the fear wouldn’t leave him.

 

                “Just relax and let me take you upstairs. No penetration, as you requested. I want to taste all of you, Jesse,” Gus hissed before biting down on a nipple.

 

                “Nah, I don’t, _ah!_ I don’t think I can make it upstairs. I’m too sore.”

 

                Air hit wet skin, leaving a chill, as Gus pulled away, his back straightening as he regarded Jesse with shining eyes. “Shall I get you some more pain medicine?”

 

                “Maybe,” Jesse said, sucking in a painful breath as he sat up, his eyes watering. “Yeah, I think I could use one. The over the counter stuff isn’t working.”

 

                “Then I will give you something to help you get comfortable,” Gus insisted.

 

                “It hurts to breathe,” he huffed. “I probably shouldn’t lay down again. Getting up is a bitch.”

 

                Gus strode from the room but soon came back bearing more pills. He popped open the plastic bottle in his fist and shook out another two Vicodin into Jesse’s waiting palm. Then he sat across from Jesse as he watched him down the pills with the remainder of the cold coffee, and Jesse felt swamped with relief that Gus’s amorous mood had abated for the time being. But while it was bizarre to see the man get so out of control with lust over him, Jesse wearily acknowledged that the most pathetic part of him felt a brief glimmer of satisfaction that he could inspire such powerful emotions in someone like Gus.

 

                “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to get some rest upstairs?” Gus asked.

 

                “No, I’m good here. We don’t have to watch tv, though. We could just … talk.”

 

                The remote was quickly snapped up and the television went black with a click. “I would like that. What did you want to talk about?”

 

                “Are you just planning on hanging out here until I’m better? Don’t you gotta work at the restaurant?”

 

                “Business is being handled just fine,” Gus replied. “I prefer to be here with you.”

 

                “Is it weird? Having me at your house, I mean. I get the feeling that this place has been pretty empty since your kids left.”

 

                There was a noncommittal shrug. “It is best, sometimes, to be alone. As I said before, there was no one worth the time or effort.”

 

                “Until you met me.” Jesse’s voice fell flat, his doubt creeping in.

 

                “Yes. Although I did not see it at first. But I am very glad that I did.”

 

                “So … probably a good thing then that Walt saved my ass before your drug dealers put a few holes in me, huh?”

 

                Gus’s expression stayed relaxed but his eyes gleamed. “Yes. It is.”

 

                “I used to think that you were setting me up,” Jesse revealed. “That you had them kill Tomás because you knew I’d go after them and they could take me out without Walt bitching about it. It would have been kind of brilliant, actually – if that had been the plan. Walter couldn’t have blamed you, and he would have kept on working for you without me there to fuck things up. You would have been able to bring Gale back in.”

 

                There was dead silence for a moment. “Do you still believe that?” Gus finally asked, sounding genuinely curious.

 

                “No.” With everything that he had learned about Gus, Jesse just couldn’t see it anymore. Gus may have been a stone cold killer, but he had his own moral code as much as Mike did.

 

                “I have admitted that I made mistakes. I can see now that Walter would have always presented a problem. The man can’t help himself.”

 

                “Whatever. So then, all those years after Max died – just how often would you hook up with someone?”

 

                Jesse couldn’t tell if Gus was bothered or intrigued by his questions, but he appeared to reflect on his answers thoughtfully, his hands folded primly in his lap. “From time to time. I have been in America for twenty years, after all. There was a period of … restlessness. Indulgence. But even still, over the years, it hasn’t amounted to much more than a handful of sexual partners.”

 

                “Wow. So, what, five or six guys in two decades? That’s … rough. Were they all white?” The surprise on Gus’s face mirrored Jesse’s surprise at himself for even asking such a question, but he had wondered about Gus’s preferences a great deal.

 

                “I … didn’t think … I mean, no, not all of them. You think I am attracted to you because you are a white boy?”

 

                “Hey, whatever floats your boat, man. I know guys who only date black chicks, or maybe they’re into exclusively Asian. We all got a thing. Sometimes, you want a taste of something that’s not your own experience, right? I can dig it. I’ve gone out with black girls. Some real hotties, too.”

 

                “How very noble of you,” Gus deadpanned, but his expression turned serious. “You think I am turning my back on my culture? That I don’t understand what it means to be a black man in this world? Particularly in this country? You think I seek approval in the white man’s realm? What have they ever done for me?”

 

                “Nah, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just saying you like what you like. I mean, your dad and your stepfamily were white. Your wife. Max. You’re, like, used to it. Makes sense.”

 

                “I grew up in a place where I stood out, was constantly a target. My white father beat me. It doesn’t make any sense at all.”

 

                “Right, but it’s cool now, isn’t it? You’re the one in control, Gus. Everybody’s gotta bow to you. That’s got to feel good.”

 

                “I don’t feel one way or the other. Don’t pretend to have any idea of what my experience has been like.” Gus sounded irate and Jesse tried to pull him back, hustled for another way to spin his point.

 

                “I didn’t say that. You’re right; I don’t know what that was like. And I wasn’t trying to imply you dug me because I’m some skinny white boy, like that’s some prize. That’s totally opposite of what I think, okay? I mean, I don’t really believe it’s the color of my skin that’s getting you off. It was just something I noticed. Sorry if I offended you.”

 

                “I take no offense,” Gus said curtly. He looked down, inspected his nails before brushing fingers across the tops of his thighs. “Although … your early look was certainly designed to cast you as a delinquent, dressing like some urban thug from the poor side of town. When the reality couldn’t have been further from the truth.”

 

                “Yeah, yeah, I know. You already gave me shit about that, you think I'm a poseur. But you gotta play the part, right? I’m in a dangerous line of work, I needed to project, you know, like, _menace._ ”

 

                “And yet, that was the last thing I felt from you.”

 

                “Okay, fine, I deserve that. And I obviously suck as a gangster. I learned that the hard way.”

 

                But Gus’s attitude shifted again as he got up to sit next to Jesse, quick to rake fingers through his hair with an encouraging smile. “I don’t think that is the case. You have courage and drive. You just need direction and something to fight for.”

 

                “And is that something supposed to be you?”

 

                Gus softly swept aside the bangs on Jesse’s forehead. “You would make a fine soldier. A man would be lucky to have you by his side, as his protection. And you learn fast. I can have Mike train you in all manner of weapons. There are so many things to teach you, I don’t know where to begin. But we will figure it out.”

 

                “So … your plan is to make me a killer? What about the college classes and me teaching other cooks?”

 

                “Jesse, you are already a killer. I just want to make you a useful one. Your friend, Mike, knows all about efficiency in that area. You will benefit a great deal from his guidance.” Gus paused for a moment, casting his gaze to the table. “He … he cares for you. He will teach you well.”

 

                “Mike? Cares about _me?_ Was this before or after he was ready to shoot me in the desert?”

 

                “Don’t be fatuous. You know that many things have changed in the last few months. You would not have asked him to look in on your girlfriend if you did not believe this. Mike respects you. As do I. You have proven yourself invaluable many times over.”

 

                And like magic, Jesse felt that aura around him pulse with gratitude, to hear Gus talk about him in a way that no one else ever had. He wanted to believe him, wanted to believe with all of his heart that Gus really saw all of those things in him. “Yeah, fine, I’m so great. I got it. No need to keep hitting me over the head with it,” he said slyly.

 

                But Gus ignored the dig and sat closer to him, almost in Jesse’s lap as he leaned in to kiss Jesse’s neck. He stared up at him with a certain reverence that had Jesse boggled.

 

                “You need to trust me when I say these things. Walter and your family have twisted your sense of self-worth into wreckage, a lump of crushed steel and glass. Do not believe them. They did not see what I see, shining inside of you, and it was to their detriment. I know you want to be good, to be the best at what you do. And you can be. You are mine, now, Jesse. And I am a man who can afford that which is special and beautiful. In you, I have both.”

 

                Jesse felt momentarily floored. He didn’t know what to say, could only keep his eyes locked to Gus’s feeling like he might be swallowed up by that gaze. When Gus moved in for another kiss, Jesse met him partway, slamming his mouth into the other man’s as he flung both hands to the back of Gus’s neck, the cast sending shock waves into his arm. But Jesse didn’t care. He opened his lips to Gus’s tongue, curled his own around it, wanting that tongue and that mouth on the rest of his body even though he knew he wasn’t supposed to want it.

 

                Gus eased Jesse back until he was lying flat again, never once breaking their kiss. Very quickly, fingers were tangling with the buttons on his top, snapping them open in succession until it was split open. “Don’t worry,” Gus breathed excitedly. “No penetration.”

 

                “Wait, Gus. I told you, I don’t wanna lie down, it’s too painful. Can’t we – like, do this another way?”

 

                Gus sat up in an instant, pulling off his glasses and closing them with a snap. “Never mind,” he said tersely.

 

                “Help me sit up, would ya?”

 

                Jesse was dragged upwards and he held his breath, the pain overwhelming him for a second. “ _Shit,”_ he groaned. “Those Vikes better kick in soon.” He was met with a raised eyebrow and Jesse threw down a hand on the space of cushion on the other side of him. “Sit over here. Lucky for you, I’m right-handed.”

 

                As soon as Gus sat down, Jesse reached for his crotch, nimbly unzipping his pants. He slid a hand in and ran it up Gus’s cock, trying to find entry into his underwear. The man looked surprised for a beat, before quickly reaching over to do the same to Jesse.

 

                After a few minutes of fumbling, Gus finally leaned over to drag down Jesse’s pajama bottoms just past his hips. He then finished unbuckling his pants and pulled them open far enough that Jesse had full access to his cock. He returned to the kissing – not just Jesse’s mouth, but all over his face, his neck, suckling on him as his hand was quick to work the prick in his fist. Jesse matched his tugs, his thumb rubbing over the head with each upswing and soon felt comfortable enough to let his legs drop open, enjoying what Gus was doing to him. He jerked off Gus as if the prick were his own, and there was something satisfying in the juxtaposition, Jesse finally feeling like he was Gus’s equal, even if it was just a handjob.

 

                “Do you like that? Is this enough?” he whispered to Gus as their breaths mingled, mouths almost touching as they leaned into each other.

 

                “I have you. You are more than enough. You are all I need.”

 

 

* * *

 

               

 

                There was a sound, a wolf’s howl, receding in his head and suddenly Gus jolted awake, staring into the white glow at his window as the moon shone into his room. The space next to him was vacant, the sheets dragged back, and Gus sat up instantly with a knot of dread in his stomach. “Jesse?” he called, glancing towards the door of the en suite. It was slightly open, the darkness from within merging with the black cloth that draped across the room. “Jesse?” he repeated a little louder. He was again met with silence, and Gus promptly jumped from the bed, reaching for his robe at the foot of it and smoothly slipping it on as he glided into the hallway. He turned on a light and marched down to Victoria’s old room, swinging open the door expecting to see Jesse laid across the bed. But it was empty.

 

                His concern peaked and Gus moved swiftly down the steps as he called for Jesse again. The kitchen light was turned on and Gus stood there staring at the emptiness feeling utterly perplexed. Concern began to ratchet into fear as Gus ran through the dining room and to the garage. Jesse couldn’t have just driven away in the middle of the night. Gus would have heard something. But he checked the garage, anyway, staring blankly at the Volvo sitting in its proper spot wondering what the boy was up to. This was not good.

 

                A panic seized him and he shouted into the house as he slammed the door behind him. “Jesse!” His voice rang in the silence but Gus was already moving, racing to the front door to unlock it and flinging it wide as he gawked out at his front porch. His robe was open and his chest heaved as he scanned the street and his neighbors’ yards. There was no sign of him. He heard another howl – someone’s dog or one of the coyotes that roamed the outskirts of the city. Gus turned around and caught sight of the back door through the archway into the living room. A small light flickered through the glass, surrounded by inky black.

 

                When Gus slid the glass door open on its track he was greeted with the deafening chorus of the cicadas scratching their love songs to each other. He stepped out on the deck and saw a shadow moving at the end of the lawn by the shed, the bright cherry from a cigarette tip floating above the bushes. He jogged down the steps and made his way across the yard, the grass cool and wet on his feet. Jesse stepped out into the moonlight, bare-chested with his pants slung low on his hips, the cigarette now caught in his mouth.

 

                “Hey,” he greeted softly before spewing smoke into the air.

 

                “Did you not hear me?” Gus inquired, feeling a little put out.

 

                “Naw, I didn’t hear anything over the fucking crickets. It sounds like a swamp out here.”

 

                “What are you doing out here?” He closed his robe and crossed his arms over his chest, the cold seeping into him.

 

                “Needed a smoke and I didn’t want to do it in the house,” Jesse offered between puffs.

 

                “It’s two in the morning.”

 

                “Yeah, well … I couldn’t sleep. I just needed to get up and move around. I got all this energy buzzing through me.”

 

                Gus stepped closer to him. “Is there anything I can get for you?” he asked automatically, still not sure what to make of Jesse’s midnight skulking.

 

                “Like what?” The boy’s voice was anything but – it was deep and smokey and grotty with sex – and Gus realized he had to stop thinking of Jesse that way. He wanted the man before him, not the child.

 

                “Do you need any more aspirin?”

 

                Jesse gave a throaty giggle and the sound shot right to Gus’s balls. “Nah, man. I ain’t feelin’ _nooo_ pain.” His grin was sleepy but his eyes shone brilliantly caught by the moon’s light. Gus had never wanted anyone so much in his life.

 

                “You should come back to bed,” Gus insisted as he closed the last of the distance between them. He glanced down at Jesse’s waist as he reached for it, was struck by luminescent skin, the stark point of a hip bone jutting under soft, yielding flesh.

 

                “You see, the thing is,” Jesse began, “I wanna keep being mad at you. I want to stay pissed off at the way you straight-up abused me. But I can’t do it.”

 

                He locked eyes with Jesse’s. “And why is that?”

 

                Jesse leaned in close, their bodies almost touching with only the barest line of darkness between them. “Because you know me. Even without me telling you, somehow … you know what I want. What I need to feel. And I can’t … can’t turn away from that.”

 

                “Do you wish that you could?”

 

                “Sometimes,” Jesse answered. “But not right now.” He put a hand to Gus’s waist, trailed fingers that still held the cigarette up his side. “Right now, I want to feel everything.”

 

                Gus hooked a hand around Jesse’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss, but Jesse stepped back and out of Gus’s hold. He flicked the cigarette with a pinch – the ember dying out as it arced into the night air – and then slid his able hand down into Gus’s pajama pants. “Tell me you want me again,” he hissed as his grip fastened around Gus’s cock.

 

                “I want you. No one else,” Gus stated, grabbing Jesse’s ass and pressing their hips together. Their mouths opened to each other, breath and tongue mixing, and Jesse squeezed his fist around Gus until he was hard.

 

                When Jesse dragged down Gus’s robe, he let him, watched as Jesse flapped it out over grass and knelt down at the hem. He reached up to take hold of Gus’s waistband, slipping it down as he began kissing any patch of flesh that appeared. The tug at his legs made Gus step on the robe, his desire fierce as Jesse clumsily pressed his cast to Gus’s thigh before reaching up with the other to stroke Gus off, his mouth a perfect circle as he sucked on the head. They held eye contact as Gus’s prick disappeared between those lips, Jesse taking in more with every descent. Gus reveled in the feel of a tight throat, his need for Jesse a sweet pain that ran through him. After a while, there was a gasp and a cough as Jesse pulled back.

 

                “Come here,” he croaked, tugging on Gus’s hand. Gus knelt on the ground and then Jesse was all over him, all teeth and tongue and a hard mouth. He pushed Gus back until Gus understood and lay down on the splayed robe. “I’m going to fuck you. Right here, out in the open,” Jesse declared. “You’re going to give me everything I want.”

 

                The crickets rose in their crescendo as the dawn loomed, Gus no longer cold but his body burning as the boy rode him. Jesse had leaned back, a pillar of gleaming white in the dark, as he fucked himself relentlessly on Gus’s dick, his moans blatant and unconcerned with the neighbors. Gus ran his hands over sinewy muscle, across Jesse’s abdomen, his chest, his thighs, while the boy waged on. They fucked for hours on the grass, until at last Jesse was spent, at last they both came, and as they lay together, Jesse heavy across him with his head on his chest, they watched the sky lighten by fractions as the birds began to sing. Jesse curled a fist around Gus’s hand and Gus grasped it back, their fingers locking. Something tender had awakened in Gus, and he smiled as he carded his lover’s hair. The future was suddenly filled with a thousand dreams come to life. Jesse now belonged to him and nothing else seemed as important, not even his business. The world was anew with promise. Gus turned his head to kiss Jesse’s forehead.

 

                “You are mine,” he whispered as pink streaks began to seep into the sky.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

                It was dark in his living room as Mike kicked back his recliner and snapped open a can of beer, a lone lamp dimly lit in the corner of the room. He half-listened to the movie that was playing on television, something on TCM. Burt Lancaster was talking fast onscreen. He always liked that guy. _The Sweet Smell of Success,_ that was it, with Tony Curtis, too. It was a good one. But Mike’s attention was elsewhere. He kept thinking about the girl and what Walter was likely up to, none of it sounding any good for Fring or for the business. If it hadn’t been for Jesse, he would have surely shut it down already.

 

                But he couldn’t get Jesse’s face out of his head.

 

                The kid had proven to be an asset, the mother of all surprises, and Mike could see Walter and Gus on either side of the kid, each man tugging an arm, ready to split the boy in half in order to gain him on their end. But Mike just wanted Jesse to have a decent life, away from both of them. He owed Gus a lot, and he had certainly never expected to come to a crossroads over some former junkie, but here it was late in the evening, Mike trying to decide if he was doing the right thing when doing what was right hadn’t been a concern of his for a long time. Leaving the gun for Jesse had been instinctual – he’d wanted him to have a fighting chance if Gus decided to come at the kid again. But with Walter in the picture, nothing good could come of the situation. Mike didn’t want to take sides, wanted to be able to keep doing his job and sock his money away for Kaylee without any hassles, yet it seemed that things were about to get royally fucked with or without his intervention. It was a matter of who would be left standing and what they could do for Mike. He couldn’t trust Walter, but Jesse … Jesse would be forever loyal; he knew the kid could be counted on. But if Walter failed and Fring was left in power, what would become of Jesse? It was enough to make his head hurt just thinking about the repercussions.

 

                Mike glanced over at his case, still open, the tapes now done whirring. Walter was nowhere to be found, but Mike knew he was in the city somewhere. It was the girl he needed to keep tabs on, even though she had promised to call him the moment that Walter made contact again. He wasn’t sure what move he was going to make from one second to the next, but Jesse was in trouble and needed help and Mike had already lost one son. He realized that his fondness for Jesse had grown to a point that he couldn’t delude himself any longer. And in his heart, he knew that Jesse was right – Gus’s emotions were making him sloppy and that meant that the rest of them were at risk, as well.

 

 

                He took a sip of his beer and sighed, long and deep. He doubted he was going to get any sleep tonight and so he settled into his lounger to watch the black and white film, one of his last remaining comforts.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am terribly sorry this took forever to update. Things have been very hectic. I'm hoping the last chapter won't take this long. 
> 
> UmbrellaInc and velvet_vampiress, thank so much for the comments! Glad you both took a chance!
> 
> theconalkid, I so appreciate your praise of the dialogue, as I really love to live in those characters' voices. As for Vince and co coming up with a backstory for Gus anything like mine? Lol, that I don't know about. Did you read Vince's AMA the other day? He might use Gus yet!
> 
> DangerSlut, I think you may be right about Jesse. He's one conflicted kid.
> 
> SegaBarret, I hope I didn't give you nightmares! 
> 
> And solfi, I am tickled that I can educate you and get you all hot and bothered at the same time, lol. I will post links at the end of the story for those who want to read more about Chile's history and some of the references in the story. And thanks for your support of the story - it's always a pleasure to read your comments. We'll have to see about Mike!


	38. The Neighbor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ending got so incredibly long I had to split it into two chapters. (RL has conspired to keep me from posting the last two nights. I apologize, but I will get the final chapter up as soon as humanly possible).
> 
> I realized in the last few weeks that I've been writing this story for a year now, and consequently, I think it's been kind of hard for me to let go of it. Thanks, everyone, for your patience. It'll all be over soon.

 

 

_There's got to be some other way._

_I'm all ears, but when it comes down to you and me versus him, I'm sorry – I'm truly sorry – but it's gonna be him._

 

 

                Walter sat at a corner table in the bar, a tumbler of whiskey in front of him as he waited for Andrea to show. It was dark inside the place, the sunlight barred behind painted windows making him feel prominent and transparent with his sunglasses on. He took them off and slid them into his windbreaker, glancing around the small room as he did so before retrieving his prescription glasses. The handful of men scattered about weren’t paying him any attention and he scratched at the hair on his head, the netting underneath the wig making his skin itch. The truck parked outside was a quick cash buy from a Craigslist ad. There had been other things one could find online as well, and – along with Saul’s help – he had been able to acquire the contents of the brown paper bag that sat at his feet, the top rolled down so hard that the paper bore the stain of his sweat.

 

                The failure or success of this plan would all come down to Jesse, and for the thousandth time Walter willed a victory into the hands of his partner. It was a lot for the boy to execute, Walter knew this all too well, but there was the hope that his loyalty to Walter would hold out, that much like Gale’s shooting Jesse would come through for him again. The fact that Jesse had been putting up with Gus’s abuse for the better part of a month provided ample motivation, but he knew that Jesse regarded life a little differently than the rest of them. The picture that Jesse had rendered, of the two of them taking over Fring’s operation, while attractive, was too simple, too tidy. There would be bumps in the road, and likely opposition in the form of Mike, but Walt would have an opportunity to realign the business with his own savvy, into his own vision, without the violent overhead of the cartels, and that was something he couldn’t afford to throw away. He would need Jesse for the transition, but once Gus was out of the way, it would be easier for Walter to patch things up with his partner. In beholding the truth, Walter had realized that Gus’s initial approach to Jesse – by making him feel respected and needed – had been the superior style of management; that the way Walter had traditionally handled Jesse had been largely to blame for the fracture to their relationship. He had taken so much of Jesse and his behavior for granted that he’d missed just how much his former student had matured. Through the troubled, drug-haze weeks after murdering Gale, Jesse had become a serious young man, and it had been Gus and Mike who had been able to recruit and elevate Jesse’s sense of self-worth with a little validation. Walter had been too myopic and self-involved to see it, leaving his partner to flounder in his guilt because he was inured to Jesse’s destructive side. But he’d had an opportunity to be emotionally present for the boy, to inculcate in his partner an unwavering devotion, forever binding Jesse to him if he’d simply been open to making a gesture. That he hadn’t done so was his failing and his alone. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

 

                Light slanted across the tables from the door being opened but Walter paid it no mind, staring down at his drink while lost in thought. When the chair across from him was pulled out, Walter glanced up with a grateful smile at the ready, expecting to see Andrea in front of him. But the face that greeted him was not hers, and Walter started in his seat, his hand automatically reaching for the gun tucked in his waistband holster.

 

                “Cool it, there, Walter. Put your hands back on the table.” Mike flipped the chair around and straddled the seat, his arm resting on the chair’s back as he studied Walter with a barely contained hostility. Walter curled his hands around his drink and picked it up for another swig.

 

                “You know, you’re like a bad case of foot fungus. Every time I think I’ve gotten rid of you, damn it if you don’t show up again.”

 

                “It’s not like I look forward to seeing you, either, Mike,” Walter noted dryly. “I needed to take care of something before I left. You don’t need to know any more than that.”

 

                “If you’re waiting for Jesse’s girlfriend to show, she’s not coming. Let’s just say I’m here on her behalf.” He made a clicking sound with his teeth. “You look like Robert Duvall in that wig. Ever see him in _Tender Mercies?_ Great movie. All you’re missing is the Stetson. You wanna tell me what’s in the bag?”

 

                Walter was thrown by the news and made no attempt to hide his shock. Once Gus’s true intentions had been revealed to him, he should have expected that Gus would keep an eye on the girl and he cursed inward at his error.

 

                “What have you done with her?” he snapped. Jesse would never forgive him if anything happened to Andrea or her kid, and a quick mental shot of the Lily-of-the-Valley sitting in his backyard had him flushed with guilt.

 

                “I haven’t done anything with her, Walter. She just doesn’t trust you. Which makes her smart.” Mike turned behind him and held up a hand, snapping his fingers for the bartender. When he swiveled back he thumped a few fingers on the table. “Now. What’s in the bag?”

 

                But Walter wasn’t about to hand it over. “Do you even have any idea what’s been going on? Are you at all _remotely_ aware of what your boss has been up to? Or do you just stick your head in the sand, the mindless goon who does what he’s told and damn the consequences?”

 

                The bartender had shuffled over and stood at Mike’s left, a towel tossed over his shoulder. “What can I get you?”

 

                “I’ll have whatever he’s having. On the rocks, please.” Mike turned back to Walter as soon as the man walked away. “What are you getting at, Walter? Just spit it out. I don’t have all day to sit here and be insulted.”

 

                Walter let his righteous fury sweep through him, the vision of what went on at Jesse’s house stagnant in his thoughts. “The man is a parasite. Preying on and damaging those under his control. And his latest victim? He didn’t just pummel Jesse hard enough to put him in the hospital. The situation is a lot more sordid than a mere beating. I think your boss is not thinking clearly where Jesse is concerned. His judgment is impaired.”

 

                Mike said nothing at first, simply studied Walter with those beady eyes as something dated and soulful played on the jukebox under the low buzz of conversation around them. The bartender returned with his drink and Mike picked it up for a long swallow. He stared into the amber depths of his glass. “How much did Jesse tell you?”

 

                “He didn’t have to tell me anything. I saw what Gus did, what he’s capable of. The boy is marked with the proof of Gus’s depravity. If Jesse continues to stay under Gus’s care, there’s no doubt the man will eventually kill him.”

 

                “You don’t know that.”

 

                “I don’t? Even you don’t believe that, Mike. You saw what he did to Victor. And with Jesse there’s the … added component that only makes it more dangerous for him. We need to get him out of there.”

 

                “Suddenly it’s ‘we’ now, is it? Funny, I don’t remember us teaming up for a rescue mission.”

 

                Walter leaned forward, forgetting his hatred of the man in front of him in his desperation. “Mike, you really think that anything good is going to come of this dynamic? This has ceased being about the business, this has become personal. Never mind how Gus feels about me; Jesse is little more than a slave right now, and I’m not talking about the lab. Do you understand what I’m saying? Gus has become unstable. His professionalism and his rational decision-making have been shunted aside for this … this _obsession_ of his. I owe it to my partner to try and help him.”

 

                “Let me ask you something. What did Jesse’s girl say to you the night you gave him his money? I’m talking about the other one, the junkie who OD’d in his bed that I had to clean up after. I know she threatened you.”

 

                Walter was momentarily blindsided by the change in tack the conversation had taken and he shook his head in confusion. “Wha … ? What the hell are you talking about?”

 

                “You were keeping Jesse’s money for him while he was hooked on that garbage. And she found out and got her nose tucked into your business. Half a million would have bought a lot of heroin. Probably made an attempt at blackmailing you, am I right? Pretty girl like that, I’m guessing she had Jesse wrapped around her finger. And I’m betting you didn’t like that much.”

 

                “I don’t care for what you’re implying, Mike,” Walter growled, lowering his voice. “Furthermore, you have absolutely no idea what I was dealing with back then, so don’t presume to imagine that you know anything about what happened. You’re dreaming up fiction, here.”

 

                “You think? See, I believe your concern over Jesse has more to do with your own interests than his. You want what you think you deserve and you won’t let anyone get in the way of that. You’ll do whatever it takes, even if that’s convincing Jesse he’s better off with you.”

 

                “He _is_ better off with me! I’m not the one beating him senseless and threatening his life! I went out of my way to save it, remember?”

 

                “Yeah … I remember,” Mike grumbled. “You know, you should really take a hard look at yourself before you go and start accusing other people of being obsessed, Walter. Jesse doesn’t belong to you, in case you were confused. Stop making the kid feel like he owes you something. He doesn’t. Let him go already.”

 

                “I will not!” Walter banged his fist on the table before catching himself, throwing a quick glance to the bar as a few faces turned in their direction. He dropped his voice again. “I’m trying to protect him. What else would you have me do? Leave him to that … for Christ’s sake, think of what happened to Victor. He was just a kid. Why are you here, Mike, other than to prevent that from happening? Or do you think Jesse is suddenly immune? Am I really going to have to spell this out for you? What Gus has been _forcing_ Jesse to do? Surely, you can’t be this dense.” It felt good to be angry, his fear purged by the white hot fire in his veins. He wasn’t about to let Mike destroy what little chance they had to defeat Gus. He had tried to get Mike on his side once before with humiliating results. He was done bargaining with the man.

 

                “Walter, I gotta say, you sure have a knack for making it impossible to respect you.” Mike grimaced, gritting his teeth before finishing off his drink with a large gulp. He plunked the glass to the table. “I’m not here to discuss what Gus may or may not be doing with Jesse. I want to hear you explain to me what you were planning with the girl, and more importantly, what’s in the bag that you were expecting to hand off to her. Now, are you going tell me, or am I going to have to put you through that plate-glass window and find out myself?”

 

                Walter sat very still, burning holes through Mike as his brain churned away at a solution. In a flash of inspiration, it occurred to him that the answer was sitting right in front of him.

 

                “What does Fring have over you, huh? Why are you so blindly loyal to the man?” he asked.

 

                “I’m not blind. I know what’s going on. But Gus Fring takes care of his people and he always has. He’s a good boss. I’ve got men that I vetted for him, good men, and he takes care of them so they can take care of their families. I know it’s hard for you to understand, being loyal to someone who pays you well, but this operation is a good thing for a lot of people and I don’t need you mucking it up.”

 

                “He’s a _good boss?_ ” Walter echoed, incredulous. “So that’s it? This all comes down to money?”

 

                “No. It’s not just the money.”

 

                “Then what? Although, I suppose it’s a lot easier to stick your head in the sand, when all that’s required of you is to do your job, huh? You might feel differently if Gus suddenly wanted more from you than you were willing to give.”

 

                 “You’re avoiding the question, Walter. And I’m not going to ask it again.”

 

                 Walt raised his eyebrows, emitting a noise of disgust thick with phlegm. “You know, I had to listen to you try and convince me that the best thing for everybody would be to put Jesse down – like he was some dumb animal that had turned on its master. I didn’t agree with you then and that’s not about to change. Jesse is of value to us. To _me._ Even Gus realized this. Do you really think I didn’t see straight through Gus’s little plan to split me and Jesse apart? Yes, things got tense between us, what with all of Gus’s attention confusing the boy. But Jesse is _family._ And I’m not about to leave him in the clutches of that devil. Now, if your most pressing concern is over a possible interruption to cash flow … well, I think we can offer a solution. We can still keep this train moving, even without Fring at the controls. But you’ll need to play your part.”

 

                It was quiet for a beat as the old man studied him, absorbing Walter’s diatribe with a poker-faced implacability.

 

                “Well, don’t stop there,” Mike said before taking another sip of his drink.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

                _“Jesse. Why have you done this to me?”_

 

                Jesse awoke with a start, a gasp dying in his throat as a sharp pain seized his side. It was still early morning judging by the light, and as he darted a glance at the door behind him, he caught sight of the clock on Gus’s bedside. The body next to him stirred.

 

                “What is it?”

 

                Gus squeezed an arm across Jesse’s chest as he raised himself from the bed, bending his head to kiss Jesse’s shoulder. The dream lingered at the periphery of Jesse’s consciousness, faces superimposing over Gus’s as they shared a look. A heavy pall of dread clung to him and he pushed off the weight of Gus’s arm wishing he could cast off his guilt as easily.

 

                “I’m fine. Just a … a bad dream.”

 

                “Let me get you something for the pain. I will be but a moment.”

 

                Before Jesse could protest, Gus was out of bed and hooking his glasses over his ears, tucking feet into slippers as he made his way to the rest of the house. Jesse lay back and rubbed hands over his face, trying to erase the evocative pictures still swarming his thoughts as remnants of the dream left red filters in his eyes, the blood still oozing from Gus’s chest. They had stayed outside for a long time, until Jesse had been frozen through, and had only been asleep in bed for a few hours. But Gus was completely at ease with Jesse now, and any lingering suspicions seemed to have faded. Jesse had found the gun Mike had left for him still wrapped in its cloth and tucked between two cement blocks, and had managed to stash it in the closet of the downstairs bathroom before going back outside for a smoke. He’d have to move it again, somewhere closer, and he glanced at his gym bag sitting in the corner. Gus hadn’t even bothered to go through his clothes yet, and he wondered if it would be safe enough to keep the gun buried at the bottom of it.

 

                It had been a shock to uncover Mike’s gift. He hadn’t expected it, and yet he pondered what this could mean for him to have Mike on his side. The instruction to use it as a last resort had been clear enough but just the mere idea made Jesse feel sick. Poisoning the man was one thing, shooting him in the face was yet another horror that he didn’t think he could go through again. He still had no idea how Walter was planning on getting his package of death to him, and Mike’s cryptic message from Andrea had him worried that Walt had her playing courier, an idea that he had expressly forbidden. He couldn’t tell if his anxiety stemmed from the wait for the package’s arrival, or the hope that it wouldn’t work out. Gus trusted him now. And that seemed to mean something for Jesse, even if he couldn’t understand why. Perhaps because it had been so hard earned.

 

                He heard Gus padding up the steps and made an effort to sit up. For a meth dealer who was so against drugs, Gus was certainly quick to ply Jesse with narcotics. As much as he knew the importance of keeping his head clear, he had needed that woozy courage the night before. Seducing Gus was always a scary prospect and he couldn’t allow himself to think about the consequences if Gus became angry with him again. He had to stop thinking so much and instead focus on whatever could make Gus happy and compliant.

 

                When Gus stepped back into the room, he saw Jesse attempting to stand up and rushed over.

 

                “No, no! Let me help you.” He set down the glass and the pills on the nightstand before encircling an arm around Jesse’s back. “You should rest some more. Your bones take time to heal.”

 

                “I gotta take a piss,” Jesse said. While Gus had on pajamas, Jesse was still nude, his pants discarded somewhere outside. Gus’s hand slid down to cup the globe of his ass and Jesse instinctively pulled in a breath, his body going taut for a second. He reminded himself to relax, before casually slinging an arm around Gus’s neck, making sure to lean into him. The musky scents wafting from their bodies mingled, becoming more pungent as they walked, and Jesse tried not to imagine the dried come on his stomach, his prick, inside of him. Even after bringing him back to bed, Gus had not been sated.

 

                “Hey, could I get a bath, maybe?” he asked as Gus steered him towards the toilet.

 

                “But of course. I will run it for you now.” Gus immediately set about twisting taps, lining up his specially colored bottles in the right order, while Jesse drained his bladder. Once Jesse flushed the toilet and moved on to brushing his teeth Gus came over and began unwrapping the thick bandages from around his torso, the water still thundering behind them.

 

                “After breakfast, I will get you set up in the living room so you are comfortable. You can watch television or read, whichever you like. I will need to leave you alone for a little while.”

 

                Instantly, Jesse was alert, his eyes burning as he watched Gus in the mirror. He spit his toothpaste into the sink. “Yeah? Where’re you going?”

 

                “I need to pick up a few things. I won’t be very long. It is best if you are downstairs, however; you have easier access to the kitchen should you need it.” Gus paused, his hands working in slow circles as he pulled away Jesse’s bindings. “I will have Tyrus close by in case you need anything. The phone is in the living room, near the sofa. Call me if you require help and I will send him to you.”

 

                Jesse cupped his hand under the water and lifted it to his mouth, swishing the last of the toothpaste around before spitting again. “Okay. Sounds good,” he replied coolly, relieved that Tyrus wouldn’t be babysitting him in the house, at least.

 

                It was while Gus was clearing away their breakfast plates – Jesse lounging back on the couch dressed in Gus’s luxurious smoking jacket and silk pants like some sort of sultan – that he made the attempt to glean more details. “So, you won’t be gone too long, right? No stopping by work getting sucked into a shift? When do you think you’ll be back?” Gus stopped what he was doing to regard him and Jesse shrugged. “I don’t like being alone.”

 

                “I don’t like leaving you, either,” Gus stated. “But I shouldn’t be more than two or three hours. I would have had one of my people pick the items up, but I wanted to do a bit of shopping while I was out. Is there anything I can get for you?”

 

                Jesse was surprised by the offer and had to think for a moment. “Um, I don’t know. I guess … actually, you know what I could use? A sketchpad. And maybe some pencils. The good kind. For like, artists.”

 

                Gus smiled warmly. “Really? You draw? I did not know that.”

 

                “Yeah.” A wave of embarrassment and nostalgia hit him as he recalled a conversation with Jane. “I mean, I’m not great at it or anything, but … I just like doing stuff with my hands. Or … hand, I guess.” He held up his cast before dropping his arm to his lap. “And I could use a distraction besides just watching tv, you know?”

 

                “I might have one already that you can use. Let me look in my office.”

 

                When he came back, he held out an oversized pad, the thick sheets of papers spiral bound at the top. Jesse was happy to see it. His nerves were too frazzled to simply sit around and do nothing. At least sex had briefly given him something to focus on.

 

                “Thanks. This is perfect. I’m set till you get back.”

 

                “I will get you the pencils you wish for. In the meantime, this is all I have.” He handed Jesse a few drafting pencils before suddenly leaning down to kiss him on the lips.

 

                “What was that for?” Jesse asked, but Gus only gave him a coy smile as he released his grip from Jesse’s jaw. He turned and headed for the stairs.

 

* * *

 

  
                Seconds after Gus left, Jesse got up and made his way to the bathroom across from the kitchen. He listened intently as the Volvo left the garage, and waited another ten minutes after the engine had faded just to be sure Gus didn’t turn around and come back. Tyrus could be across the street for all he cared, but as long as he was on his own in the house, he would have some time to act.

 

                He pulled the bundle out from under the towels, a groan escaping him as he lifted his arm. Jesse wasn’t sure where to keep the firearm but decided it would have to be somewhere upstairs. Getting up the steps was another hurdle, his ribs screaming as he dragged himself along, clutching the banister the entire way up. It seemed that the bag that held his clothes was as good a place to stash it as any, and it was currently in the bedroom which felt somehow safer. He knelt down where it sat and ripped open the zipper, quick to search its sides for a hiding place. There was a deep pocket in the lining that would keep it obscured if Gus had cause to open the bag for any reason. He rooted around the contents for his phone, but found nothing. Jesse checked the zippers on the outside nylon, producing some old candy wrappers and a key that he no longer remembered its use for, but there was no cell phone there, either. His panic increasing, he began ripping his clothes out of the bag and digging his way to its bottom, his hands groping for anything small and hard. It wasn’t in there.

 

                Jesse sat back on his heels, feeling a creeping chill run up his spine to his neck. If Mike said he left the phone in his duffel bag, then it would have been there. Unless Gus took it out. Jesse squeezed his eyes shut, willing his brain to come up with a plan. He had to call Mr. White and find out when to expect the poison; this would be his only chance. He stared at the old dial phone sitting on the nightstand by Gus’s bed while chewing his lip. It was too risky using the landline. Gus would check for any outgoing calls. He didn’t even trust Jesse enough with a cell.

 

                A flashing image of Saul snapping one of many phones in half was illuminated in his thoughts and it quickly morphed into Mike doing the same. That was how these men had conversations, which meant that Gus would most likely have a few burners of his own. He just needed to find them. Jesse took the gun out of the bag and went back into the hall. He glanced from right to left, trying to think of the ideal place, when his eyes fell on Victoria’s bedroom door. He marched to it with purpose and went inside.

 

                Making his way back down the stairs, Jesse moved as slowly as he dared, still clinging to the polished wood with every exhaust of breath. He reviewed his options for getting Gus in a much more trusting state. He had no idea what form the poison would take, but however it came, he’d need to work some heavy magic to make Gus forget any suspicion he’d ever held. As soon as he touched the first floor, he made a sharp turn towards Gus’s office. There were drawers in his desk that had been locked the last time Jesse checked and he wanted to revisit them more thoroughly.

 

                Using a paper clip to pick the locks as Mike had shown him, it didn’t take him long to find the booty of scattered metal bodies and Jesse almost cried out in triumph before remembering that Tyrus could be skulking outside of the windows at that very moment. He grabbed hold of one of the old flip phones and hustled out of the room, his wandering taking him back to the downstairs bathroom. After locking the door, Jesse sat on the lid of the toilet and exhaled another long breath, feeling his hands shake as he held tight to the phone. When he opened it to punch in Walter’s phone number, his mind went suddenly blank. He had Mr. White’s number saved in his old phone and rarely looked at it anymore, just pressed the name on the screen. Jesse closed his eyes and searched the floating numbers behind his eyelids. He had to remember this. With a gasp, the sequence came to him and he quickly jabbed at the keypad.

 

                A voice answered hesitantly. “Yes? Hello?”

 

                “Thank. Fucking. God.” Jesse dropped his head into open hands, his elbows like bowling pins above his knees. “I was afraid it was the wrong number.”

 

                “Jesse? Where are you?”

 

                “Where do you think? I’m at Gus’s house,” he replied with some urgency. “And I don’t got a lot of time, here. He could be back at any moment. I spoke to Mike. What the hell is going on over there?”

 

                “Mike? What did he say to you? And where in Gus’s house are you, exactly? I mean – Jesus, Jesse, you’re not calling me on Gus’s phone line, are you?”

 

                “Of course not! Duh, like I would do something that stupid. I’m using one of his burners. He took my phone with him.”

 

                “Then why are you talking to me from inside the house?! Get the hell out of there!”

 

                “What do you think he’s gonna do? Wire his own house? Seriously? You’re getting a little paranoid, Walter.” But as he spoke, Jesse got up and left the room. “I’m not even inside. I’m on his deck, okay?” He strode over to the glass door, sliding it open as Walter resumed talking.

 

                “Look, we can’t be too cautious. If he’s left you alone, you can be sure he’s got someone covering the place. I doubt it’s Mike, but just be on the lookout. Where did Gus go, anyway?”

 

                “I don’t know. He said he had to pick some stuff up, that he had shopping to do. He said he wasn’t going into work, not for a while. Guess I’m a lucky dude. He just wants to hang out with me, like, 24-7.”

 

                There was a gust of breath on the other end. “Okay, okay. I can work with that. What about you? Are you okay? Is he … treating you any better?”

 

                Jesse winced, knowing what Walter was alluding to but not about to comment on it. “Uh, sure,” he said flatly. “Just peachy. Waiting on me hand and foot like I’m the fucking king. He keeps doping me up with pain pills, though. I’m – things have been a little foggy.”

 

                “You need to stay sharp and focused on the job at hand, Jesse. Don’t take anymore. Pretend to swallow them, but get rid of them as soon as Gus looks away. I’ve got the gear all prepared and I just finished wrapping up plans to get it to you. I need you to be ready when the time comes.”

 

                “And when’s that gonna be? Soon? Mr. White, I can’t take this much longer. I feel like I’m gonna puke every other second.”

 

                “Jesse, you’ve got to keep it together. I know it’s rough, but we’re in the home stretch. I’ve … got someone you know making the delivery, either tonight or tomorrow afternoon, at the latest.”

 

                “Please tell me you did _not_ go behind my back and ask Andrea to do it,” he hissed, his voice hoarse as he pictured her at Fring’s door. “I told you not to do that.”

 

                “Don’t worry,” Walter assured him. “It won’t be Andrea.”

 

                “So who then? Why not just leave it somewhere that I can get to? Like, I could ask Gus to take me by my house or something and you could leave it where I’ll find it. I mean, we can’t raise any more red flags, Mr. White. I’m hanging on by a thread as it is.”

 

                “I understand, Jesse, but you’re going to have to trust me on this. Just sit tight and when the time is right, you’ll know it. If Gus wants to take care of you, then let him. And when you have an opening, take your shot. Don’t think about it, don’t hesitate. Just do it. Things are going to be moving very fast, very soon, okay?”

 

                “What the hell does that even mean? Can’t you just tell me what’s gonna happen? I’m trying not to lose my shit, alright? But I could use a little more information.”

 

                “No, Jesse. You need to get off the phone. You’ll know what to do when the opportunity presents itself. Don’t worry, son, this is almost over. I know you can do this.”

 

                There was a click and then the phone went dead. “Hello?” Jesse stood rigid on the deck, the sun making him sweat even as a cold wind cut through him. “Hello?!” Realizing that Walter was gone, he quickly snapped the phone back on its hinge, cracking the plastic so he could rip the two halves apart. With an angry grunt, he flung each piece, one at a time, across the yard and into the neighbors’ bushes.               

 

                “That doesn’t look very promising. Having a lover’s quarrel already?” a voice said behind him. Jesse jerked his body around to gape at the glass door but there was no one there. He glanced to his right and saw familiar eyes peeking over the stone wall. _Great_.

 

                “Nah, just a disagreement. What’s your deal, man? You always eavesdrop on your neighbors?”

 

                The man stood on something again so that Jesse could see his smarmy grin shift into alarm. “Holy shit. That must have been some disagreement.”

 

                At first Jesse didn’t understand, but then the inflated feeling in the side of his face reminded him. “Whatever. I was in a car accident.”

 

                But the man didn’t look terribly convinced. “How unfortunate … for Gus. I’m sure he misses looking at that pretty face. I hope the rest of you isn’t out of commission?”

 

                Already uncomfortable, Jesse was immediately rankled by the guy’s assumptions. “Look, asshole, why you gotta keep making jokes like that? He’s my boss. He’s like a mentor, okay?”

 

                Jerry glanced down at Jesse’s attire with raised eyebrows. “Right. Of course. That was quite a bit of mentoring he gave you last night. Christ, I could hear you both going at it well into the dawn.” He raised his glass as though making a toast. “With a performance like that, I hope you’re at least getting a restaurant of your own out of it.”

 

                “Jesus, creep much? What were you even doing out here? Oh right, I forgot; you like to go cruising in the park for dick in the middle of the night. Yeah, I’ll bet you were tugging it out the whole time, too. So what if I’m sleeping with him. The guy is nice to me.”

 

                “Really? Are you sure about that? Funny, I could have sworn I heard some screams coming from the upstairs windows a few times. And not the good kind.”

 

                “It was probably just the tv.” Jesse turned to go back in the house, having had enough of the conversation. “I’m outta here.” The door rumbled as he slid it back on its track.

 

                “Wait a sec. Don’t go yet. I was going to invite you over for a drink.”

 

                He stopped to look back, incredulous at the man’s sheer nerve. “Is that a fucking joke?”

 

                “No, not at all.” Jerry looked behind him in the direction of his house and then grinned back at Jesse. “I’m home by myself. The wife’s at work and the kids are at school. I’m bored. Come over for a bit. Your _boss_ doesn’t usually get home till late.”

 

                “Uh, no, I don’t think so. Dude, what are you doing home in the middle of the day, anyway? Don’t you work?”

 

                The grin grew wider. “Let’s just say my schedule is flexible. I’m taking a little time off. I’ve got a pool table downstairs. Play a game with me. There’s an eighteen year-old scotch locked in my bar that I’ve been meaning to crack open for the last month. Come on, what do you say? What can one drink hurt?”

 

                “Really?” Jesse’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Do I look stupid or something? No way I’m going over there,” he said in repugnance. His discomfort with Jerry’s forwardness was steadily mounting to panic as he wondered just where the man’s aggressive nature might end. He found himself hoping that Gus would get home very soon. “Besides, I don’t think Gus would like it; coming home and finding me at another dude’s house. He’s not the kind of guy who shares.” He had one step over the threshold when Jerry’s tone became rushed.

 

                “I would treat you so good,” the man urged, sounding quite earnest. “The things I would do to you, baby. I’d worship that ass. Stick my tongue so deep inside of you, until you’re coming in bucket loads. Just get over here and I’ll show you.”

 

                Completely freaked out, Jesse didn’t even bother with a comeback, but quickly shot himself behind the glass and shut the door, making sure to slide the lock into place. He felt dizzy; his hands were shaking, and he desperately needed a lie down to get control of his heart rate, which was thumping wildly. A horde of ants seemed to be crawling all over him. It was ridiculous that he was getting so intimidated by some suburban dad making a pass at him, but Jesse couldn’t curb his fear and he practically ran up the stairs as he made his way to the next floor, broken ribs ignored. When he got to Gus’s bedroom, he went for his bag and threw it on the bed, ripping open the zipper and the tie around his jacket simultaneously. He wanted to be back in his own clothes, in something basic and comfortable that didn’t draw eyes to him from the likes of men such as the pervert next door. This wasn’t him, and as Jesse bent over to slide off his silk pants, he groaned in pain, his confusion escalating. He struggled getting into his own pair of jeans, the stabbing pains in his side making him wish for another Vicodin or something better, something to help him float through his time there, to not have to feel any of this. The tee shirt was pulled one-handed over his head with another loud cry, the pain flaring so badly that the room ebbed before him. Jesse crawled across the bed and dropped his body to the mattress with a grunt, pulling the pillows under his head. His entire body was vibrating and he hissed in another breath to hold it, waiting anxiously for the sound of Gus’s Volvo in the driveway.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

                A car door slammed nearby and Jesse’s head shot up from the bed, his vision bleary as he was roused from sleep. He stared at the window while he oriented to the sounds around him. When Jesse heard a door close inside the house it drove him from the room, his hands groping for something steady to lean on. He moved with eager, sure steps down the stairs, relieved that he was no longer alone. Just then, Gus came in from the dining room, his arms laden with glossy department store bags. His serene expression quickly folded into one of displeasure as soon as he saw Jesse.

 

                “What are you doing up there? I brought down everything you needed so you could avoid the stairs for a while,” he said sternly.

 

                Jesse rushed up to him, still feeling spooked and nonplussed that he was seeking comfort from Gus, but he clutched at the lapels of his coat and swooped in for a frantic kiss. After only the barest crush of lips, Gus pushed him back, his mouth in a frown.

 

                “What is the matter? What has happened?”

 

                “That creep next door. Your neighbor,” Jesse explained with a knot in his stomach, his anxiety still thick. “I went outside for a smoke and he wouldn’t leave me alone.” He spoke in a hushed voice, as if he feared Jerry might overhear somehow. “I was hiding out upstairs, and I guess I fell asleep.” He was horrified to feel the prick of tears and blinked them back rapidly. Gus set down his bevy of bags on the floor and Jesse moved closer, circling his arms around Gus’s waist shamelessly.

 

                “What did he say to you?” Gus’s sonorous pitch dropped to a deep rumble.

 

                “Gross stuff. Things he wanted to do to me. Fucking loser actually tried to con me into going over to his house.” He cleaved Gus to him tighter, feeling the room tilt.

 

                “You’re shaking. You need to calm yourself.” Gus had wrapped his arms around Jesse, stroked his back and skimmed fingers to the nape of his neck, making Jesse want to sink into him. “Nothing is going to happen. He won’t touch you.”

 

                “You promise?” Jesse mumbled into Gus’s shoulder. He turned his head, ran his tongue up the line of skin that ended under Gus’s ear then shifted slightly, wanting Gus to feel his growing hardness. “Show me,” he whispered, sucking in a harsh breath of anticipation as Gus’s body stiffened against him. Jesse dragged lips along Gus’s throat, pressing his crotch against the man’s own to make himself abundantly clear. He couldn’t handle this much doubt and fear in one sitting. He needed desperately to disappear into something pleasurable for a while and Gus could provide plenty of that. Jesse had learned that much.

 

                Another second ticked by, until finally Gus grabbed Jesse’s hand and began to pull him up the stairs. Jesse let out a breath of relief. As soon as they stepped into the bedroom, he was already disconnecting from Gus to unbutton his jeans, using his thumbs to hike them down to his knees, underwear conspicuously absent. Gus stood behind him to help him undress. They wrestled his shirt over his head and along his cast, but once Jesse was naked he quickly moved to the bed, twisting onto his back as he flopped his heels outward, legs wide.

 

                He was already panting hard as Gus loomed over him. He felt needy and reckless, wanting someone – anyone – to tell him things would be okay. “Do what you want to me,” he sanctioned as he stretched his good arm over his head to grab at the headboard. “Just tell me that I’m yours again.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

                An hour later, Jesse lay on top of the rumpled covers, the back of his hand resting on his forehead as he stared blankly at the ceiling while Gus gasped heavily next to him. He craved a cigarette, the shakes not quite gone from his fingers, though he felt immeasurably safer and more settled.

 

                “Hey, next time you go out, think you can pick me up some cigarettes? My pack’s almost done.”

 

                Gus rolled on his side to face him, dropping a firm hand onto Jesse’s stomach as he propped himself on his elbow. “You know you should quit,” he said, still sounding out of breath. “Give up your unhealthy habits and start fresh.”

 

                “I’ve only just barely managed to kick a drug habit, Gus. You can’t expect me to give up smoking, too. One addiction at a time, please.” Hearing Gus criticize unhealthy habits was pretty rich.

 

                “You are feeling better then?” The fingers on his belly started to move in scrolling strokes, slithering their way down his abdomen and Jesse instinctively grabbed Gus’s hand to stop him. But then he laced their fingers together in a conciliatory gesture in an effort to keep Gus agreeable.

 

                “I’m over it. Dude just freaked me out, is all. Never got to have my smoke, either. I could totally kill for one right now.”

 

                “Where did you leave them? I will bring them to you.” Gus sat up and reached for his glasses.

 

                “For real? They’re on the coffee table.”

 

                He watched as Gus strode nude to the en suite, then return a second later tying his robe shut. As he headed downstairs, Jesse exhaled a deep breath with a hand over his eyes, his thoughts whirling madly in the aftermath of what had just occurred.

 

                Being inundated with positive hits to his brain had been the only plan at work when he’d coaxed Gus upstairs, but though it had been successful enough, he was left as confused as ever. Gus had lit him up; every touch, every stroke, sending Jesse into a dizzying rise of arousal. And when Gus had pushed Jesse up on his knees, crawled under him in the other direction until the intended practice had become clear, Jesse had dropped down on him not only willingly but enthusiastically. The deeper that Gus had swallowed his cock, the more that Jesse had worked to match him, his throat now feeling cavernous and sore. Jesse kept hoping that allowing himself to enjoy the stimulation to his body would reduce its impact on him, that he’d be able to codify it with a summary of responses that had more to do with biology than anything emotional.

 

                But he realized he could no longer tell the difference, between the act and what was real. Gus had easily overwhelmed him, and when he had finally come, the room ringing with his cries, Jesse was simultaneously assaulted by images of all that Gus had done to him. Suddenly everything slammed back into perspective and he’d felt instantly ashamed for getting off. Maybe Mr. White was right. Maybe Gus was raping him every time they did this, and that he was kidding himself to believe that he was acting on his own, that he could consent to any of this; that perhaps he had lost the ability to even make healthy, rational decisions anymore. He no longer trusted his own judgment. How could he feel anything towards Gus that wasn’t the purest strain of hatred? Certainly not desire or gratitude. To think of Gus as some kind of protector was plain insanity – Jesse could see that starkly; understood it, believed it, and yet somehow, those feelings had crept into his blood like poison, flowed through him until he felt so infected that he couldn’t remember anymore what was supposed to be normal. There was a level of respect that he couldn’t discount, no matter how warped it appeared on the surface. A part of him knew without a doubt that Gus would fight for him tooth and nail as long as Jesse remained faithful to him, and there was something inherently powerful in that. Could he say the same for Walter? Could his partner even guarantee his safety anymore? It seemed as though Jesse’s life had become one bit of unpleasantness after another since he’d started working with the man. He saw another flash image of Walt's Aztec, mowing down those drug dealers to save Jesse's life and wondered again why his partner had done it. With that one act, Jesse couldn’t conceive of the alternative. At least he trusted Mr. White to be honest with him. It would be a grave mistake to ever trust Fring. Every time he thought he was manipulating Gus, the tables felt invariably turned.

 

                Gus came back into the room and flung his cigarettes to him, the pack landing squarely on Jesse’s stomach. A few of the shopping bags had been brought upstairs and Gus set them on the end of the bed before leaving an ashtray on the bedside drawers by Jesse and climbing over him back into bed. He slid his body up behind Jesse’s with a smile while Jesse pulled a cigarette from the pack and quickly stuck it in his mouth. He held out his hands, half looking over his shoulder. “Where’s my lighter?”

 

                Gus fished it out of the pocket of his robe then pulled the cigarette from Jesse’s mouth and tucked it into his own, lighting it smoothly in a few puffs. With a stream of smoke, he handed the cigarette back to Jesse.

 

                “I thought you said you didn’t smoke anymore.”

 

                “Only on rare occasions. It remains an abiding pleasure.”

 

                Jesse took a long drag and thought about the tube of ricin that had nestled in his cigarette casing for so long, how he’d watched helplessly as Gus had flushed it down the sink drain. And soon he’d be trying again. This time there would be no failure. In a day or two, Gus would be dead. This man that had just made Jesse scream and moan in ecstasy, this man who had kissed every part of his body looking like he was in some kind of divine light. This man who believed in Jesse.

 

                “What’s in the bags? You got some new threads? Gonna give me a little fashion show?” he said snidely.

 

                Gus stared at him for a moment, his features stilled into the mask that gave away nothing. Suddenly, a smile broke out. “I bought them for you. And I have something else to give you.” He got out of bed and went to the end to put his fist into a bag, retrieving a small gold box. Shucking off its lid, Gus pulled out a familiar gold chain. “I had to get it fixed for you. Here, let me put it on.” He sat down by Jesse’s side of the bed, reaching for his neck with the chain held open. Jesse straightened up and leaned his head towards Gus, letting him fiddle with the clasp at his neck.

 

                “Where did you find it?” Jesse asked, a chill spreading along his shoulders as the gold touched his skin.

 

                It was quiet for a beat as Gus finished centering the necklace at Jesse’s throat. His smile dimmed. “Mike. He came across it in your room.”

 

                The idea of Mike cleaning up the mess of his bed after what Gus had done to him there had him suddenly queasy. “What? You sent Mike to my house?”

 

                “Should I show you what else I have brought?” Gus went on, ignoring the question. He stood up again and went back to the bags, the rustle of tissue paper the only sound as Jesse continued to gape at him. Several wrapped dress shirts were stuffed in Gus’s hands as he fanned them out in his fists. “I think we need to upgrade your wardrobe. You need to dress appropriately. No more children’s wear. I took the liberty of picking out some casual clothes for you, as well.” He scanned Jesse’s face then dumped the shirts back in their bag. “I can show them to you later. When you are less anxious.”

 

                “You didn’t have to buy me clothes,” Jesse said, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice. “I can dress myself. Don’t act like … I’m not that guy, alright? Let’s not get carried away here.”

 

                Gus’s smile dropped altogether as he sighed heavily. “What is it now? Why are you angry?”

 

                “I’m not fucking angry! Just don’t treat me like I’m your boyfriend all of a sudden. Let’s be clear on this. I’m your employee. Who you fuck. Whether I want to or not. That’s all this is. Don’t kid yourself into thinking there’s anything romantic about what’s going on here.”

 

                “You are still upset about Jerry,” Gus stated easily as he came back around the bed to seat himself next to Jesse. “I told you that no one else can touch you and I meant what I said. You seemed to take comfort in that notion a little while ago. I assure you, you have nothing to fear,” he said as he rested a hand on Jesse’s thigh. “But the truth is … you like being mine. And this makes you feel vulnerable. There is no shame in admitting this.”

 

                Jesse was instantly livid, knowing he should be holding his tongue but helpless to stop it. “Admit what?! That you can get my nut? Well, congratulations. I told you before, that don’t mean shit. And it sure as hell doesn’t erase all the other fucked up stuff you’ve done to me.”

 

                Gus straightened his shoulders, his frown deepening as his eyes closed to slits. “Who have you been talking to?” His tone turned threatening and Jesse licked his lips nervously.

 

                “No one! What do you mean? The only people I’ve been allowed to talk to since I got here is you and Mike. What, like, you think I can’t think up stuff on my own now? It’s my body that’s being messed with here. You don’t think I’m gonna have a strong opinion on this?” Jesse accused as he pointed at his bruises again, his voice shaky.

 

                “You were fine before I left. And now you are bringing up past events that I thought we had put behind us. There’s no more I can say on that matter. We need to focus on the future.”

 

                Jesse leaned over to tap his cigarette into the ashtray, leaving it to sit on the ledge as he faced Gus with a barely controlled contempt. “So, what are you saying? I should be over it already? Wow. It’s been, what? A whole seventy-two hours since you fucked me up and put me in the hospital? Gosh, I’m so sorry that I just can’t seem to let it go, what with it being ancient history and all. What a pussy, huh?”

 

                “Stop being dramatic. There is no need for this. You need to accept how things will be from now on. You can start by accepting yourself.”

 

                Jesse was further appalled and reared back his head. “What does that mean? Accept what?”

 

                But Gus had curled fingers around Jesse’s ankle and he squeezed it tight, a sadness appearing in his eyes that only angered Jesse more. “You have a distorted view of yourself, Jesse. You have been conditioned to believe you will never be good enough, that you don’t deserve success, or even love. So you sabotage any potential for happiness with recklessness. I can see this clearly in you, as I have seen it in others. This is a recurring behavior, yes? You get close to something that is good for you and the instinct is to flee, for fear of getting what you finally desire. It is ingrained. But we can break that cycle. Together. I know who you are. I know you will do great things. With the right guidance. And I can help you achieve what you were meant to be.”

 

                “And what’s that, exactly?”

 

                “A leader,” Gus said in his rich baritone, making it sound destined.

 

                “And so what does all that flowery shit have to do with the whole reason I’m here in the first place? Why this thing between us even started?” He wanted Gus to get angry, too, to slap him around, or tie him up, but the man simply cupped Jesse’s cheek with a look of tenderness that was baffling.

 

                “You are afraid, Jesse. Afraid of what I offer you and afraid to completely open yourself to me. You want to trust me, but your fear stands in the way.”

 

                “Uh, I think my trust issues have more to do with the fact that you wanted to kill me not that long ago. I mean, how can I ever really believe all the things you say to me? And not think you’re working me somehow? How the fuck am I supposed to trust a guy like you, Gus? I really want to know. A guy who tortured people for years, who kills like it’s the easiest thing in the world. I’m supposed to just forget everything that’s happened? How we even got to this place?”

 

                But Gus was adamant. “Our lives have intersected and we are both changed by it, Jesse. There is no going back. I have laid myself bare before you; have let you see me, my true self. And there are very few people in this world who can claim that. I chose you. And you have not disappointed me. I am ready to put my trust in you, Jesse. And I will do whatever I need to in order to acquire yours.”

 

                “ _You’re_ ready to trust _me_ , huh?” Jesse said in disbelief. “Where’s my phone, by the way?” He saw just the tiniest flicker in Gus’s gaze, whose expression remained otherwise unchanged. “Yeah, you didn’t think I’d notice, huh? Mike said he put it in my bag, but it ain’t there. Checking my messages for me, were you?”

 

                “Something like that.” Gus rested a reassuring palm high on Jesse’s thigh again. “It is not you that I am worried about. It is Walter. And anyone else that would seek to undermine us.” He shifted and tucked his hand into his pocket, pulling Jesse’s cell phone from its recesses. “Here. Your girlfriend is quite insistent to meet with you.” He handed it off and Jesse quickly curled a fist around it, the compact body instantly becoming a lifeline.

 

                “So what should I do?” Jesse asked guardedly. “Break up with her over the phone? Text her that it’s over? Or … should I go see her?”

 

                “What would you like to do? It is up to you, Jesse. You would know better than I what would be a fitting way to end things. I’m sure that you still feel some … affection for the girl. I know you want to do right by her and the child.”

 

                “Yeah. Yeah, I would,” Jesse agreed, wondering if he could have Andrea get word to Walter to speed up the delivery. But he had to make sure they’d be safe. “They’re, uh … they’re off limits, right? Once I do this. They’ll be left alone? No one following them around? Tapping her phone? I need to make sure that Andrea and Brock are protected. No one from other cartels coming after them or anything.”

 

                Gus frowned. “And why would they be a target?”

 

                “Because I was there. ‘Cause I’m connected to you now. Because I helped you and someone might want to get back at me by hurting them. I don’t want them involved in any of this. Ever.”

 

                Gus spread out his hands. “I give you my word that they will remain unharmed.”

 

                Jesse let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, tapping the phone to his bottom lip. “Well, okay then. That’s good.” He sat up suddenly, moved to grab Gus by the shoulder, pulling him closer. “I want to go see them. Alone. I think it’ll be better that way. You can have Mike drive me over there, if you want. But I want to be able to say good-bye to Brock.”

 

                “As you wish, Jesse.” A wide smile flashed the next second. “Now that we have that resolved, may I show you the rest of your wardrobe? I want you to try on the suit.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

                Gus pulled out the rest of the clothes he had purchased, laying them out on the bed with care as Jesse shuffled over, still naked. The boy had relaxed a bit since his outburst and Gus estimated that he’d needed the assurance that his little pseudo family would be taken care of. While he did not trust the girl, Gus would allow Jesse his parting. Knowing that Jesse was emotionally attached to him, as his display earlier had clearly made plain, Gus felt confident that the separation with the girl would be over quickly, that this closure would suffice so that Jesse could get better acclimated to his new surroundings. He considered having Mike approach Goodman to get an appraisal on Jesse’s house. It would be financially wise for the boy to hold onto the property, but they could find renters easily enough as Gus arranged for Jesse’s things to be moved or sold. He wanted the boy to be able to make the transition comfortably.

 

                After having Jesse try on every outfit, crowing over each piece as he fussed over his lover in the full-length mirror of his closet, he finally sent him to the bathroom for a shower while Gus went downstairs to prepare a late lunch. As he sliced open the rolls he’d brought home from the market, layering them with some bresaola, arugula, and goat cheese before spreading a thick fig jam over the top, Gus reviewed Jesse’s prickly mood again. The signs were obviously pointing towards abandonment issues, as Jesse struggled to commit fully to Gus. But Gus knew what he needed, and what the boy craved, and was not averse to giving him both. The more that Jesse felt heard, the more passionate the sex had become, and the correlation was not lost on Gus.

 

                He unhooked a frying pan from over the stove and set it on a red ring, drizzling oil across its bottom before dropping the sandwiches inside. Searing each side with the press of a spatula, Gus’s thoughts settled on his other order of business, one he’d set into motion the day before with a call to Lydia at the Houston office. After his ordeal, Jesse needed to be handled delicately for the interim before production resumed. Showing the boy that he was ascendant in a thriving business would help to foster the trust that had been lacking. Taking a little sojourn to see Peter at Madrigal’s headquarters would be good for them both. His friend had been distressed by the looming danger the cartel had posed for their operation for months, and now that they’d been dealt with, Peter could be appeased with the knowledge that not only was there new business on the docket, but that Gus had arranged for their future with Jesse poised to become the central figure in expansion. It would give Jesse a chance to shine again, as he had for Ramon and his associates, and to get him out of his funk. Plus, he wanted Peter to like him. It had been Peter who had picked up the pieces of Gus after Max’s murder and had put him on the path that had led him to this place, and perhaps even to this moment, as Gus’s heart had managed to heal over the years. And now it felt opened to another once again. He turned the stove top off and slid each sandwich on to a plate, Jesse walking into the kitchen just then. Gus felt his smile beaming out of him as he looked approvingly over the boy’s appearance, dressed in clothes that Gus had just purchased. The chinos were tapered to the boy’s ankles, the roll of the cuffs still in place, and the fit showed off the boy’s slim figure and hips. The cream color set against the powder blue of the crisp, cotton shirt made Jesse seem miles from the young hoodlum that he’d first met. This was a young man on the precipice of his power. Gus simply needed to aid him in the discovery. The bruised and bandaged face was the only flaw in an otherwise perfect picture.

 

                “Please. Sit down. There are no decent salumerias in Albuquerque, unfortunately, but I have some specially cured meats sent to the restaurant on our Dallas trucks every few weeks. The owner of Salumeria Beillese is a good friend of mine. He has sent us a wonderful selection today.”

 

                “Cool,” Jesse commented as he pulled out a seat. “Looks good. I’m starving, too.” He raised his eyes to Gus, a hard line of determination in his gaze. “Should we have some wine with this?”

 

                Gus considered Jesse’s mental state. Just a little wine would be helpful in keeping Jesse relaxed, and he welcomed the chance to open a bottle. “I think that would be lovely. I just happened to pick up a few bottles while I was out.”

 

                They ate in silence mostly, Jesse wolfing his sandwich down as quickly as he drained his first glass. Gus poured a refill, cutting it off as the wine reached the midway point.

 

                “Aw, come on. I can handle more than that,” Jesse noted, his voice raspy and beguiling. Gus debated the request for a brief second, calculating how long it had been since he’d last given him a dose of pills, before filling the glass. He then filled up his own.

 

                “What are we drinking, anyway? I thought you were gonna teach me this stuff.”

 

                A spark of pride shot up in Gus’s chest. “Yes, of course. This is a dry Lambrusco. From the Emilia-Romagna region of Italy. The area is famous for its parmesan cheese and its pecorinos. This _secco_ has a light sweetness that cuts through the fattiness of the meat, with an almost seductive touch. Inhale it and the nose is filled with plums and cherries, perhaps a hint of violet.” He demonstrated for Jesse by touching his nose to the glass and breathed in deeply.

 

                “O-kay,” Jesse answered doubtfully. But he followed Gus’s lead and held the glass under his nostrils, sniffing experimentally. His eyebrows shot up. “Hey, I think I can smell the plums.”

 

                Gus tamped down his amusement. The boy’s naiveté was often delightful. “There are no actual plums in the wine, Jesse. But the grape, once macerated and aged, exhibits a variety of flavors with its new persona. It is an amazing transformation.”

 

                Jesse took his ignorance in stride and swallowed another gulp. “It’s kind of fizzy. Reminds me of champagne. Like bubbles in my nose. I didn’t think you were supposed to chill red wines, though. That’s what my dad said, anyway.”

 

                “This is a _frizzante_ style, its effervescence making it ideal to be served slightly chilled, perfect for a warm afternoon. The blend we are drinking is dominated by the Lambrusco Grasparossa grape and is very versatile. There are at least six lambruscos from various parts of the region. During the seventies, it’s sweeter, sicklier version was quite popular, and that is how it is often remembered which has left it with a stigma to overcome. But this version is a favorite.”

 

                “Wow. You really know your stuff.”

 

                “This is part of life’s pleasures, yes? To gain knowledge about that which you enjoy only heightens its appeal.” He eyed Jesse up and down, so pleased with what he’d refashioned. “To understand its history, all that it comprises, gives it meaning. The more that I learn about something, the more it means to me.”

 

                Jesse met his eyes with a knowing look. “I guess. Sometimes it’s just nice to wade into something and not know anything, though. Like, no ties, no expectations. Just totally pure.”

 

                “Purity is not all it is cracked up to be,” Gus responded. “In neither experience nor singularity.”

 

                “Then maybe you’re in the wrong business,” Jesse quipped, before giving him a playful smirk. He took another long sip of his wine. “I kind of dig this, actually. It’s pretty good.” He held out the glass, already near the bottom. “Can you top me off?”

 

                “That is enough,” Gus cautioned. “With the painkillers in your system, I have probably given you too much already. It is a dangerous mix. You will have to do without the Vicodin tonight. It is time to start pulling back on it, anyway.”

 

                “Then why’d you do it?”

 

                Gus hesitated for a moment. “You were irritable before. I wanted you to feel better. Lighter.”

 

                Jesse smiled again, but there was a hard edge to it, his eyes shining. “I want to feel better, too, Gustavo. Like, a lot better. Did you … have anything else in mind? You know, to help that along.”

 

                The glass was tipped all the way back as Gus finished the last of his wine. Looking forward, he stared into Jesse’s eyes, seeing excitement there. “Perhaps. Is there something you would like me to do for you?”

 

                “Maybe,” the boy said coyly, leaning back in his chair. “I know how you don’t like it when I’m irritable.”

 

                “Please. You must tell me. Whatever you wish for.”

 

                It was silent for a beat as both men held eye contact, Gus feeling a charge in the space between them. Jesse licked his top lip and then darted a glance to the wall. “Actually, you remember that time I came over and … well, it was the night your neighbor – old Jerry, there – first tried talking to me. When I went outside? And you rescued me from the deck?”

 

                “Yes, I remember that night.” Gus could summon up every minute vividly, especially the splendor that came after dinner.

 

                “When I got here, you, uh, you tied me up by the ankles. Blindfolded me, too. And then proceeded to totally fuck me raw.” Jesse’s gaze shifted to his knees. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot.” He put his hand to the side of his battered face. “I keep thinking about what you kept saying to me. About turning the pain around. Feeding off of it, in a way.”

 

                “You enjoyed it,” Gus said with understanding. “This is not a bad thing. You thrive on being challenged.”

 

                “Naw, it was more like a … like a zen thing. You know, reaching a zone, like you said. Where everything just starts to feel amazing and you’re, like, you’re just flying, right? But inside … inside you feel really calm. And the rest of the world just starts to fall away. I mean, that whole thing was pretty hot. I can … I can admit that now.” He leveled his gaze back on Gus. “I’m sorry if I was being a jerk, earlier. I’m still trying to deal with what happened, okay? I get it, why you didn’t believe me, at first. And you’re right, it’s Walter who keeps dicking me over, and, like, I should be used to that by now. I keep fighting you instead of listening. It’s just that, sometimes, it just feels good to be mad. Like, some days, I’m pissed off at the whole world and I just can’t let it go. I’m sure that gets tiring to put up with, though.”

 

                There was a great rush of feeling inside of Gus and he extended his hand across the table, his palm open towards Jesse. The boy looked taken aback at first, but then slipped a hand in his. “You are growing wise. Our experiences shape us, Jesse, for better or worse. But always, you must look forward, gain strength from your suffering. Perhaps we are more kindred in spirit than you think.” He shook his head in understanding. “You must let them go, Jesse.”

 

                Jesse’s eyebrows knitted together. “Let who go?”

 

                “Those who seek to hold you back.” Gus enclosed Jesse’s hand in both of his. “I can show you your true self. I can give you such pleasures. Your body will sing for me.”

 

                The boy’s expression remained pensive. “Yeah. Yeah, it probably will.” He pulled his hand away. “Yo, like what just happened here. I was trying to turn you on, not get all serious and shit.”

 

                Gus shone his smile upon his young lover with the patience of a man with all the time in the world. “You do not need to try very hard. Your very presence is enough for that. But I will give you what you desire soon enough. Let us retire to the living room and talk some more. I want to hear more about this anger for the world.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

                They sat together on the sofa, Gus molding his body to Jesse’s, an arm slung around his back. Jesse stayed staring into Gus’s eyes, refusing to blink or look away until they itched from the strain. Gus leaned in to kiss him and Jesse tilted his head back, his mouth open as their tongues met. He took Gus’s wrist, pressed the hand down to his crotch as he raised his ass off the sofa. He knew what he needed to do now.

 

                “No. You must wait,” Gus said with a sly grin as he dragged his mouth away. “Or should I restrain you until you tell me what I want to know?”

 

                “If you want,” Jesse offered guilelessly, feeling the room swim. “What is it you want to know so bad, anyway?”

 

                “I want to know everything about you,” Gus said. He looked up to Jesse’s hair as he ran his fingers through the bangs and swept them across his forehead. “How long have you been drawing, for instance? Have you always been artistically inclined?”

 

                “I don’t know. I guess. When I was a kid, my mom used to frame all the stuff I brought home from school. She still has some of it up. I was always making stuff, though. I just like it. You know, expressing myself that way.” He leaned up to kiss Gus again. “And other ways.”

 

                But Gus pushed him down firmly once more. “Did you sketch anything while I was gone,” he asked in curiosity. “I’d like to see your work. I do some sketching myself.”

 

                “Yeah? That’s cool.” Jesse’s voice started to sound like it was stuffed inside his head, or behind a thick wall. “What kind of stuff do you draw?”

 

                “Well, landscapes, mostly. I am not very good at portraits. I had some work left in the pad that I gave you.”

 

                “Oh.” Jesse felt sleepier as Gus brushed the tips of fingers over his hair. He wanted a jolt. Needed Gus to jar him into action. “I never opened it. I got interrupted, remember? And then I fell asleep.”

 

                “Will you draw something for me, then?” There was a gliding touch across his stomach.

 

                “Sure, I could draw something,” Jesse echoed, raising himself up again as he shifted to switch places with Gus. He leaned over to run his tongue across a covered nipple. “But is that really what you want me doing right now?”

 

                For a few seconds, Gus seemed to ponder the question, and Jesse took advantage of the moment, making his play. “I’d rather you tie me up,” he rasped, looking straight into Gus. “Like you did that time with my legs in the air. You could even spank me if you want. I deserve it.”

 

                Gus appeared surprise by the request, and was shocked into silence, giving Jesse time to drop to his knees in front of Gus. Just as he was about to lower his head, there was the sudden chime of the doorbell and it pierced through Jesse’s fog for a moment, distracting them both.

 

                “Who the hell could that be?” he groaned, annoyed by the interruption.

 

                “I will be but a moment. Wait here.” Gus left the room and Jesse heard him march up to the door.  
“Mike?” he heard from the foyer as soon as it was opened. “Is everything all right?” Jesse bolted upright, the news wiping away the rest of his inebriated haze. As soon as he heard the gruff reply, he was up from the floor and running to the front of the house.

 

                “There’s no problem, boss, I’m just here for the patient,” Mike finished as Jesse came up behind Gus. Mike held a crudely wrapped box in his hands with a brightly colored bow on top but the old man’s eyes widened as they set upon Jesse. “Who seems to be doing better, I take it.”

 

                “Mike, what are you doing here?” Jesse suddenly didn’t know how to act. Was Mike part of it? Was this who Mr. White had recruited to make the drop?

 

                “I went by your girl’s house to check up on them again, as requested. I was asked to bring you this, by one very excited young man. He wanted me to tell you that he made it for you at school and that he misses you and hopes you come by to see him soon.”

 

                Jesse didn’t know what to say. Gus was staring at him oddly and Jesse’s responses were slow to come to him. He should have left the wine alone, but he’d needed it for what he’d been about to do. “Um, thanks.” He stuck his good hand out to take the gift. “Tell Brock, I’m coming by soon.” He shot a glance to Gus. “Right? Like, maybe tomorrow even?”

 

                “Perhaps,” Gus said primly. “We shall have to see how you are doing.” His eyes were on the box, however.

 

                It was a compact size; not much larger than the hand he grasped it in, but long enough to hold a syringe. Jesse turned his attention to Mike, now afraid to look at Gus for too long.

 

                “I got your message, by the way. About taking my trashcans from the back yard and rolling them to the curb. Yo, you saved me from getting a shit ton of complaints from my neighbors.”

 

                “Glad to be of service,” Mike said drolly, his face giving away nothing. He turned to Gus. “We got the kid’s car picked up from the hospital, by the way, so it’s back at the house. I can take him over to the girl’s, if you need me to.”

 

                “That won’t be necessary, Mike. Was there anything else?”

 

                “No, sir. Just wanted to touch base and see if you needed me tomorrow. I’ve got Kaylee for most of the afternoon.”

 

                “Then you must enjoy your time with her,” Gus suggested, his tone magnanimous. “We will be fine here. Have a good night, Mike.” It was as if Gus was eager to be rid of him as he turned the man around, practically shoving him out through the door.

 

                Mike gave Jesse a parting look before stepping back into the night and he imagined he could see an understanding there. More than anyone else, he needed Mike to be on his side. The door closed and then it was just him and Gus again.

 

                “Well, that was weird,” Jesse commented. “Talk about timing, huh? Say, I left your sketch pad upstairs, so why don’t I go get it and draw you something, like you asked.” He held up the box. “I’m just gonna run this up to the bedroom.”

 

                “You’re not going to open it?” Gus asked, looking bemused.

 

                “What?” Jesse's flesh went cold.

 

                “The child’s gift? Aren’t you going to open it?”

 

                “Um, I thought maybe later. You know, I might wait until I go visit them, so he gets to see me being surprised. Kids love that shit.”

 

                “You should open it now. I’m so very curious.”

 

                “But … we were going to do stuff. It can wait till later. Really.”

 

                “Open it.” Gus’s voice had turned sharp.

 

                “Uh. Okay. Sure thing.”

 

                Jesse lifted the box resting in his palm. The bow was one of the stick-on kinds, so he couldn’t unravel it slowly. He tore at the paper and it fell away easily, leaving an old cardboard box that had been recycled, the shipping label still on though the address blacked out from a marker. He peeled back the flaps to look inside, feeling Gus’s eyes on him like claws in his skin while his heart thundered in his ears.

 

                “What is in the box, Jesse?”

 

 

 


	39. The Lie

 

_I won._

                Jesse gulped hard as he stuffed his cast-bound hand into the box under Gus’s steady gaze. His fingers curled around something hard and round. He pulled it free and stared at it with a mixture of horror and surprise, not sure what the shape was supposed to be, and he blinked a few times as he tried to work it out. He turned it around to look at the bottom, where Brock had scratched in his initials.

 

                “Oh. I think it’s, uh, like an ashtray, right?” He held it up so that Gus could see it, his heart still knocking around in his chest as a wave of relief welled up in him. “Looks like he made it in art class or something.” The ceramic had been painted a bright orange with green circles under the glaze, and Jesse felt the sting of loss at the sight of it.

 

                “That’s very sweet,” Gus said, appearing to relax again. He took the pottery piece from Jesse and took a closer look at it, a small laugh accompanying the gesture. “I held on to every arts and crafts project my daughters ever made. I have many of them still collected in the attic.” He handed it back to Jesse. “I will take you to say good-bye to them. Once you have a few more days to recover.”

 

                “Oh. I thought you wanted this to be dealt with all quick and painless.”

 

                “It is only a few days, Jesse.” Gus trailed his fingers along Jesse’s bruised cheek. “This is finally starting to fade. It is looking much better.”

 

                “You think Andrea’s going to flip her shit when she sees me or something? Yo, she won’t be a problem. I haven’t told her anything.”

 

                Gus smiled tightly, his eyes piercing through Jesse. “She seems … very protective. Let’s just give you some more time to look a little less frightening before you go out of the house again. We don’t need anyone asking questions. It was bad enough when that DEA agent damaged your face.”

 

                “Okay.” Jesse felt his every movement being studied and ached to get away for a moment to take a breath. “Uh, I’m going to go get that sketch pad, alright? I’ll be back in a minute. Hey, you got any more of that pie from yesterday?” He disappeared up the stairs before Gus could stop him again, clutching the box between his cast and his chest as he held on to the banister. As soon as he got into the bedroom Jesse made a beeline for the en suite, locking the door behind him.

 

                He opened the box again and hastily pulled out the ashtray, dragging the cotton lining underneath it as it caught on the plaster edges of his cast. There was a smaller box below it. Jesse dropped everything into the sink and pulled the second box free, his heart in his throat as he ripped off the lid. There it was. The syringe nestled in more swaddling, sitting diagonally in the box, an ampoule filled with something clear right next to it. Just as quickly, Jesse smashed the lid back in place, afraid that Gus could sense it somehow. He had what he needed. There was no turning back now. As soon as Gus was asleep, Jesse would be ready to act.

 

                When he came downstairs, the sketchpad tucked under an arm, Jesse was not only sober but had every one of his senses working at maximum input. He heard Gus puttering around in the kitchen and went in to see what he was up to. There was a tray on the cutting board next to the sink and Gus was laying down some plates with the leftover fruit tart. Also on the tray sat two small cups of the foamy coffee shots that Jesse had come to appreciate and he came up behind Gus, eschewing his nerves for a breezy, relaxed demeanor.

 

                “Need any help with that?”

 

                Gus didn’t startle, seemed to know when Jesse was near, but he smiled as he picked up the tray. “No. To the other room with you. I made us some _cortados_ to go with dessert.”

 

                “Right on.” Jesse followed Gus into the living room and flumped himself down on the couch, dropping the pad to the coffee table. The fistful of pencils he held made a clatter as he set them down on the wood, peeling back the cover of the pad. The first page was already filled, its charcoal shading leaving a negative image on the underside of the jacket. The illustration was of a mountainside and its city below: trees and buildings shooting upwards to the sky, cars on busy roadways, birds penciled in amongst the clouds, a panoramic rendering bustling with activity. Jesse was impressed by the sheer artistry and polish of the work. “Holy shit. This is yours? You’re like a pro.”

 

                Gus had seated himself in the chair next to Jesse and he smiled warmly again at the praise. “Hardly. It has always been something I do for pleasure. Like you, I have no formal training.” He leaned over to get a look at the sketch. “That was the view from my window back home. Pilar would always open all of the curtains in the house every morning to let the light in. I can still recall the smells from the streets. We were in the center of everything. We would watch the parades right from our balcony.”

 

                “Sweet. Looks like you had a bitchin’ pad.” He flipped a page and saw another drawing, this time a close-up. A young woman was smiling in front of an ocean, a blazing sun overhead and whitecaps frothing in the background. She looked like one of the photos on Gus’s nightstand, her skin shaded in and tight curls amassed on her head in the nearest approximation of a ponytail. “Oh wow, is that Remedios?”

 

                “Yes,” Gus said, beaming with pride. “That was done on our last trip together, in Rio. It was probably close to two years ago now.”

 

                “She’s totally gorgeous. I can see a bit of a resemblance,” Jesse said with a sly glance. “Still, I’m thinking she got most of her looks from her mom,” he teased.

 

                “Yes, well, as I said – Pilar is extraordinarily beautiful. Many men were in love with her, I think. I was very lucky she was so devoted to me.”

 

                “Considering her husband was eighty-percent fruit and keeping some dick on the side, yeah … I’d say she was plenty devoted if she stuck around as long as she did. You lucked out all right. She’s like, wife-of-the-century material. What was in it for her, anyway?”

 

                Gus shrugged, his expression resigned. “She liked ambitious men, wanted to be taken care of. It was not as odd a match as you would like to think. We were great friends for so long, and we were so much a part of each other. Pilar had always been a supportive force. I could not imagine my life without her. Even if things turned bitter and hateful between us towards the end. But,” he sighed. “The country was full of strife at that time. Everyone was anxious and paranoid; the mood of the nation was in turmoil. And yes, my heart was with another.”

 

                Jesse thought of the people in his life that had left that kind of impression on him – Ginny, the one person in his family that had made him feel welcome and able to be himself; Jane, with her wise attitude. But especially Walter. As much as his old teacher drove him nuts, there was no denying that he’d learned from the man, and had been impacted by him in more ways than just learning how to cook. Like Gus, Jesse couldn’t disregard the respect he had for him. If only Mr. White didn’t make it so difficult to like him, most of the time. But it was all the many moments when Walter had stuck his neck out for Jesse that really bound him to his partner. It felt as though, deep down, Jesse understood innately, and with a committed clarity, that Walter saw him as something more than just an annoyance, and he couldn’t give up hope that there would come a day when it would finally be acknowledged, that Walter might actually admit he needed Jesse without the threat of murder over his head.

 

                Flipping another page to a clean sheet, he put one of the pencils to paper and started to scratch out some lines, glancing over at Gus to study the angles of his face. “Have you ever thought of going back? To Santiago, I mean. What are you gonna do when you retire?”

 

                “You’re asking me to think of retirement, already? Exactly how old do you think I am?” Gus appeared amused, his eyebrows arched above the rims of his glasses.

 

                “I’m just sayin’, do you have a plan for after you’ve achieved complete and total dominance of the meth world?” His pencil felt right and comfortable in his hand as he shaded in a cheekbone, the heavy cast of his wrist resting across the top of the metal spiral to keep it against his upturned lap. “That’s the end goal, right? Or is there some other ambition you’re working towards?”

 

                “I have plenty to keep me busy. But I suppose I do think about home once in a while. I don’t know that I harbor any desire to live there again, but I think about going back to South America, definitely. Have you ever been?”

 

                “Uh, no. Went to Ireland once with the folks. I was twelve, I think. It was totally boring.”

 

                “It sounds like you are ripe for traveling, then.”

 

                Jesse shot Gus a look over the top of the sketch pad. “Do I? Who’s gonna take me?”

 

                “Well …” Gus looked unsure for a brief second, before widening his hands, ready to plead his case. “Actually, I was thinking of taking you with me on my next trip to Hanover. In the next few weeks.”

 

                The pencil came to an abrupt stop. “What?”

 

                “I’d like to take you with me. Introduce you to Peter. And there are a few other people I’d like you to meet. Since we have stopped production for an interlude, as we prepare for a new market, this will be the best time to have you accompany me.”

 

                “Seriously? Isn’t that kind of soon?”

 

                “Soon for what? Why do you say this?”

 

                Jesse paused, not sure if there was even any point in mentioning the events of the last few days again. “Um, I don’t know, it just seems … soon. Isn’t this guy, like, super important? Are you sure I’m ready?”

 

                “Absolutely. I would not have considered such a trip if I had any doubts.”

 

                The _scritch_ _scritch_ of the pencil resumed as Jesse imagined what that might have been like – being presented as the golden boy to men in expensive suits with rich-sounding accents. What would a future down that path have held for Jesse? What might he still become?

 

                “Of course, this will give us some more time for the bruises to fade. I want you to look your best. And we can take care of some unfinished business before we leave.”

 

                Jesse looked up from the pad, instantly worried. “Unfinished business? Like what?”

 

                Gus finished sipping his coffee and set it down, lifting the plate of pie from the tray as he talked. “I spoke to Ernesto yesterday. He is willing to stay late again for us so as to complete the _apadravya._ And then there are the remaining restaurants for us to visit, so that you may be shown around to the rest of the staff members. It will be good to have every store familiar with you and the role you’ll be playing by the end of the quarter. I need to justify your salary for our P&L reports.”

 

                But Jesse’s brain hadn’t gotten past the first sentence. “Whoa, whoa. Wait a minute. You’re taking me to get my junk tooled up some more? Gus, you said that one is, like, pretty hardcore. I mean, I’m still recovering from busted ribs and a broken wrist. How much am I gonna have to deal with all at once, here?”

 

                Gus flashed his palms, his tone placating. “Calm down. I would not have suggested the procedure if I didn’t think you could handle it. We are working on this, yes? You are learning how to absorb pain in new ways. I want you to arrive in Germany full of steel in your spine and in your flesh, ready to conquer. You have yet to realize your full potential, Jesse. Your full power.”

 

                Jesse had no reply for Gus. It wasn’t going to happen, any of it. Gus wouldn’t make it to morning. He had to remind himself not to get upset about these intentions. But the mention of the Los Pollos gig had him thinking about post-Gus developments. While he and Mr. White could handle production, they knew nothing about dealing with the cartels south of the border.

 

                “Fine, I’ll deal.” He flipped the pencil to erase the lobe of an ear so he could try it again. “Makes me wonder, though. About some of your plan.”

 

                Gus pressed a cloth napkin to his lips before speaking, setting his plate down. “What do you mean? Which plan?” he asked distractedly as he popped a halved strawberry into his mouth. He frowned at Jesse’s cup. “Your coffee is getting cold.”

 

                “I’ll drink it in a second. I’m just thinking about that little expedition to the lab while we were in Mexico. You know, those technicians were filming me the whole time I was making the batch. They have recorded evidence on how to cook Walter’s formula. After you killed all the top guys, where do you think that video ended up? I didn’t see the asshole chemist who gave me a hard time out on the deck with the rest of the crew when your tequila kicked in. You don’t think he passed it on to some of our competitors?”

 

                Another creepy smile. “That video never left the grounds. It was taken care of. As was your antagonist, _S _eñor__ Fuentes.”

 

                “Oh.” He shook his head in grudging admiration at Gus’s complete dedication to ruthlessness. “Damn, Gus, did you leave anybody alive?”

 

                “It pays to take care of every possible threat. One cannot afford to leave even the smallest detail down to chance.”

 

                He skewed the pad to a right angle and paid some attention to the collar on Gus’s polo shirt, bolding the jaw line above it in sure strokes. He thought about the day Walter had gone kind of nutso in the lab, the way he’d rambled on talking about dying and his perfect moment; how Jesse had finally resorted to slipping him some sleeping pills to give the man some much needed rest. He knew Gus had some in the medicine cabinet. He eyed the short coffees on the table.

 

                “I dig those espressos. Do you think you could make us some more? I need some caffeine – I’m not ready for bed yet. Oh, and hey, I’ll take another piece of that fruit thing, if there’s any left.”

 

                “You’ve hardly touched what’s on your plate,” Gus complained.

 

                “Dude, I’m almost done, here. I’ll eat it all with the next shot.”

 

                “I eagerly await your reveal,” he said with a dramatic flair as he arose from his seat.

 

                As soon as Gus went into the other room, Jesse got up. “Yeah, I gotta take a piss. Don’t look at it while I’m gone, okay? I wanna surprise you.”

 

                “I think I can control myself,” came the reply from the kitchen.

 

                Jesse hustled to the stairs and made his way up as quickly as he could. He was glad he moved the gun from the downstairs bathroom, but he held on to the hope that he’d have no cause to go into Victoria’s room again. This would be done fast and painless. All it would take was one little pinprick. Just like with Jane. Gus wouldn’t wake up tomorrow morning and this would be all over, like Mr. White said.

 

                When he got back into the en suite, he went straight to the medicine cabinet and pulled back the mirror. He slid the bottles around on their glass shelf, looking for the Ambien he’d come across during past inspections. Not finding it right away, he pulled each bottle out one by one and checked every name, taking note of the little warning stickers. But it was no longer in the collection. Stumped, Jesse flushed the toilet and stepped back into the bedroom, striding over to the nightstand. He opened the top drawer hoping to find it there, but was instead greeted with the oversized black dildo that Gus favored and several brands of lube. Jesse almost slammed the drawer shut, not needing the reminder, before easing it quietly the rest of the way in. He glanced at the walk-in closet but was afraid he’d get caught in there again. He’d already been upstairs too long. Jesse ran out into the hallway and made his descent.

 

* * *

 

 

                It was after he’d scooped the last biteful of the tart into his mouth that he allowed Gus to take a look at the drawing. He downed the last of his espresso in one gulp, appreciating the bitter finish, as Gus waxed on Jesse’s work.

 

                “This is very good. I feel that you have represented me well,” Gus said with a grin. “I am pleasantly surprised.”

 

                Jesse rolled his eyes. “Don’t fall all over yourself, there, Gus. I know it’s not like your stuff, okay? Like, professional and all. The art I do is kind of cartoony, but that’s what I know.”

 

                “No, I disagree. There is a certain style to the illustration that I like. It is quite whimsical, in its way, but also very striking. Look at these lines here, in the definition of my eyes and the stark rims of my glasses. They speak to the confidence of the artist. You know exactly what you want to capture.” Gus handed the sketch pad off to Jesse once his critique was done. “You have real talent.”

 

                Trying to remain unimpressed by the compliments, his face showing off his jaded dubiousness, Jesse couldn’t help the warm flush in his skin as the praise hit him like a shot in the arm. “Whatever. It’s yours if you want. Hang it on the fridge for all I care.”

 

                “You should try your hand at painting,” Gus suggested. “I would be most interested in seeing what you could create.”

 

                “Like oils and stuff? I don’t know. Never thought about it, really. Seems kind of serious.”

 

                “If you consider yourself an artist, then you should be serious about it. Use this medium to know yourself. You have had a lot of upheaval lately. Painting what fills your soul might be very cathartic for you.”

 

                Jesse was caught by the sincerity in Gus’s tone and refrained from making a sarcastic crack. No one had ever taken his interest in art as a purposeful exercise and encouraged it, other than a few of the counselors at the rehab clinic, and that had mainly been for therapy. He felt that glow in his face again and looked away, strangely embarrassed. He needed to shut down all of his emotions – he couldn’t afford to feel anything right now. Walter was right – he needed to focus.

 

                “Maybe. I’ll think about it.” If he couldn’t ensure a drowsy Gus by sleeping pills, Jesse would have to utilize other means. “So … have you thought about what I said? Earlier?”

 

                “About which subject?” Gus started to stack the plates and coffee cups onto the tray, rising out of his chair.

 

                “You know … tying me up.” Jesse felt a brief satisfaction as Gus froze in mid-pose, half bent to the table. When he finally stood to his full height he stared into Jesse with a dark hunger in his expression, the tinge of a feral smile making the back of Jesse’s neck tingle.

 

                “Are you sure, Jesse? You must tell me now. You want this?”

 

                “Yeah.” Jesse stood up, too, stepping closer to Gus. “As long as I get a say in what we do. I mean, I need to know that I can stop it if I want. That’s the only way this can work.”

 

                “Yes, of course. We must be mindful of your injuries, but I can make sure you are comfortable. We will arrange for a signal to call the proceedings to a halt, if need be. I am only interested in procuring your pleasure.” Gus pulled Jesse in by the waist, clutching him tightly as their noses met. “May I … use objects?”

 

                The tingle flared down his back. “Depends,” he offered. “Whether they’re going inside me or for the outside.”

 

                A hand groped roughly over his ass as Gus squeezed their bodies together. He pressed his mouth to Jesse’s ear. “Perhaps both. You yourself said that you deserve to be spanked.”

 

                “I like it better when you use your hand,” Jesse answered automatically, before turning into the lips that pressed at the side of his mouth. The kiss was languorous and inquisitive, as if Gus were trying to determine the veracity of Jesse’s requests, and so Jesse returned it with just the right amount of control, holding back enough that Gus would seek more. He broke the kiss and took a step back. “Tell me what you want to do to me.”

 

                “Everything,” Gus answered hoarsely, his eyes locked to Jesse’s. “I want to bring things out of you. To see you tremble before me. You know you are ready.”

 

                Jesse suddenly grabbed Gus by the chin, keeping their faces close. “Maybe I am.” Gus’s eyes flashed dangerously as his fingers circled Jesse’s wrist, but Jesse’s grip stayed firm. “I need you to understand something, first. Okay? What it is I’m giving you, here.”

 

                “What? What is it?”

 

                He swallowed away the hollowness in his throat. “My _trust._ This means I trust you, Gustavo, as much as I’m able, right now. What I’m letting you do … that’s a big deal for me. I need you to get that. This isn’t about … it’s not just about getting off, okay? I want this to mean something to you. ‘Cause it means something to me.”

 

                Gus’s features softened, his hands coming up to caress Jesse’s face. “Of course it is something. Your trust means all to me, Jesse. You honor me with such a gift. I will not make light of that.”

 

                “That’s good. As long as we’re on the same page.” He covered Gus’s hands with his own. “I want it to be like you said. To, you know, not be afraid to open myself to you. But I gotta know that you don’t want to hurt me just to hurt me. I’ve had enough people in my life do that already.”

 

                Gus answered by way of another deep kiss, and Jesse shivered in Gus’s embrace.

 

* * *

 

 

                Andrea sat on her bed with her cell phone cradled in her hands, tapping it towards her chest. It was still early. She’d only just sent Brock to bed. But already the night felt like it was dragging on. She longed to talk to Jesse, even though she knew it was currently impossible. He had to deal with this on his own, and while it was frustrating for her not being able to help, she knew it was better this way. She couldn’t afford to embroil herself or Brock into any more danger.

 

                Her eyes were drawn to the digital clock by her bed as she waited for the time to move on, waiting to hear the call that it was all over. Andrea held up her phone again and checked the face, expecting to hear from Jesse’s friend. Mike had come by the house to pick up Brock’s box that would act as the Trojan horse, hiding its true delivery in its fake bottom. Almost immediately, Andrea had felt a sense of calm around the man, who was obviously much older than Walter and who seemed to have an understanding of her position without her having to say a word.

 

                Gazing up at the window, Andrea wondered about the future, her thoughts spinning as she imagined a life with Jesse once he’d extracted himself from the whims of a murderous rapist. Was there even a chance that Jesse would want to come back to them? She ached to hold him, to kiss his bruises away, but Jesse was Jesse and she knew it could never be that simple. He would want to retreat and lick his wounds, and Andrea worried that it would involve drugs again. She wanted to be there for him, but she didn’t know how.

 

                Her phone emitted a brief note of her ringtone before it was answered. “Yes?” Andrea answered breathlessly.

 

                “It’s done. Package delivered,” came the deep voice, followed by a click as the line was disconnected.

 

                Andrea dropped the phone to the bed and put her hands over her face, leaning back on her pillows with a deep breath. She knew she’d get no sleep tonight, but she was useless to do anything else. So Andrea spread out on her bed and stared at the ceiling, trying to visualize Jesse right at that moment, imagining what he was doing, how he was feeling. She sat up suddenly and clasped her hands together, closing her eyes and praying in a mumbled Spanish that he would come back to her soon.

 

* * *

 

 

                Walter sat in his truck in the grocery parking lot, just outside of Gus’s neighborhood. His phone was clutched in a palm already coated with sweat. He had received word from Mike a minute ago and now there was nothing to do but wait to see what would happen. It all came down to Jesse. Perhaps it always had. Walter thought back to that moment in the desert when Tuco had been ready to shoot Jesse in the back of the head as Walt stood there panicking, not knowing what to do, until he’d seen Jesse digging around in the sand for a rock. It had been terrifying watching that psychopath throw Jesse around mercilessly, even as a part of him was thankful it wasn’t him being assaulted. But that had seemed to become their overriding function for each other over the course of their partnership. Jesse took the beatings, while Walter piloted the solutions to every problem they became enmeshed in. Consequently, Walter could only feel protective toward his charge, even when Jesse’s self-destruct mode got in the way. When he had come to Jesse’s rescue in the Aztek, it had felt exhilarating. This time, however, he was reduced back to the role of spectator – helpless and gawking on the sidelines as Jesse took every kick to the ribs.

 

                A long, exasperated sigh escaped him as he leaned back against the headrest. The last of the light was fading into the corners of the vast sky, the zipping hum of traffic filling his ears. He held up his phone and glanced at the face, pushing a button to see Jesse’s cell number come into being. It was driving him crazy not knowing what was going on and he wished he could speak to the boy again, for reassurance. He could only hope for his partner’s inspiration, but his imagination would get the better of him, and dark, filthy images would invade his mind, an audio of what he’d witnessed rising in volume in his head. He couldn’t stand the thought of Jesse having to seduce Gus to get him where they needed him, but it was their best chance and he knew it. If they got through this, Walter would have to spend some time making it up to the boy. He received another flash of a memory, this time Jesse’s dazed but hopeful face as he’d asked Walt to ride go-karts with him. _Yeah, there’s a track down by the Coliseum_. _It’s pretty fun_. Walt gave a humble laugh at the picture of the two of them zooming around like kids, and a wave of tenderness shot through him so fiercely it brought tears to his eyes. Walt doubled over as a coughing fit seized him, his hand groping for the handkerchief in his pocket.

 

                When he had a clear passage back in his lungs, Walter held up his phone again before settling down for a long night as he waited for Jesse’s call.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

                It was warm down in the gym, but Jesse’s skin felt cold, the march of creeping flesh extending along his back. He couldn’t see anything, as he was blindfolded by a black sash, but it had been upon his request. Jesse didn’t want to see what he looked like in the mirrored wall and he didn’t want to see Gus. He felt awkward enough as he tried to move a leg an inch to the left to get a bit more comfortable. Already the backs of his thighs were in an uproar, but at least the strain was off of his side.

 

                “How do you feel? Is this too tight?” Gus asked, as a finger slid in between the leather and skin at Jesse’s thigh. His legs were in the air, bent at his knees which had been bound and his ankles hooked to something above.

 

                “I’m okay,” he said, having become used to feeling exposed this way.

 

                Gus had him strapped in the weight machine, part of the foot press removed. His arms were splayed out, but Gus had made sure to secure Jesse’s left one at the elbow, his cast free from restraint as it rested against a bar. Something rubbery was being girded around his ball sac, his cock already tight in its ring as his hard-on pulsed steadily. When Gus had him fitted, there was a long lick over his asshole and Jesse jerked against the steel trappings of the machine. He moaned as Gus did it again, a tongue burrowing deeper. “God, you like that ass, don’t you?” he whispered.

 

                “I _love_ this ass,” Gus replied just as breathless, fingers prying Jesse wider. Gus’s tongue began to saw in and out of him, fucking him deliriously for a few moments before slowing down again, but Jesse’s groans matched Gus’s pace, a scream making his head vibrate as Gus smacked him hard. Fingers grabbed at the reddened flesh, twisting and digging into it, before another slap sounded, making Jesse jump as his bottom burned.

 

                “Oh, shit, do that again,” he croaked. Gus obliged and spanked him harder, the sting spreading across his entire backside. A mouth closed over one of his testicles and bit down while fingers worked their way inside him. “Oh, God, yes,” he enthused.

 

                His cock was enveloped by a hot mouth, the fingers delving ever deeper as they widened him. Gus began to blow him and fuck him with the same diligence, moving in time as Jesse let his cries get louder. He could only think about what Gus was making his body feel, no other thought could intrude. He had to sell this with everything he had and that meant there was no act. He had to give in, give Gus what he wanted, whatever it was that the man deigned to pull out of him. He’d deal with the truth of it later.

 

                There was a lull as Gus’s attention disappeared for a brief moment, the sound of something clinking against metal heightening Jesse’s senses. The excitement he felt was intertwined with the dread of what would come later, until Jesse couldn’t be sure what was lust and what was plain bloodlust. Something pressed at his hole, the slickness from the lube letting it glide in easily. Jesse’s ass clenched as each bump gained entry past the muscled ring. Gus kept pushing until the strange wand pressed against Jesse in a spot that made him groan with pleasure.

 

                “What is that? What are you doing?” Jesse cried out, not recognizing the feel of it as either the anal beads or the regular dildos Gus liked to use. Gus stayed quiet, but he ran a soothing hand across Jesse’s chest, plucking a nipple as he did so. There was a click and then Jesse threw his head back with another deep, open mouthed groan as the vibrator inside his ass began to pulse. “Oh God. Oh, _fuuuck_.”

 

               Hands rubbed up and down the backs of Jesse’s haunches before another smack to his ass made him beg. “God, yes. Please, Gustavo. Harder.”

 

                “You now belong to me. This ass belongs to me. This cock.” Gus sucked on the head to prove his point, Jesse’s moans unabashed. A thumb was eased inside him to stretch him open as the vibrator was pressed deeper, shooting sparks into Jesse’s brain as it stroked the right spots. It went on for what seemed like hours, Gus sometimes sliding the vibrator partially out, only to start fucking him furiously with it again. The intermittent blowjobs sent Jesse into that floating space and he was glad for the wine from earlier, and even the pain pills that had gotten him this far. Gus bit into the globe of his ass, mouth and teeth outstretched, and slapped Jesse again as the vibrator increased to a higher speed. Jesse roared his approval. A hand curled around his cock, moving up and down the shaft with vigor until Jesse felt himself approaching delirium.

 

                “Gus, please, I want to come so bad,” he begged.

 

                “Not yet. We have only just begun.” Jesse could feel Gus shift his body in front of him, until a cock was pressed to his asshole. The vibrator was pulled out past several ridges as Gus slicked himself up to align with it.

 

                “Wait,” Jesse called out. “That’s too … it’s too much. I-I don’t think I can handle that yet.” There was a pause as Gus held himself still, the plug continuing to pulse inside of him. “I … I just want your dick,” Jesse said. “I want you to fill me up.”

 

                “No, that is not all. Say you want this,” Gus commanded. “Everything I do to you, you desire this.”

 

                “I do. I want this. I want _you_ ,” Jesse rushed, not hesitating, his emotions a rising tide. “I need you, Gustavo. I want to be yours, like you said. Please. I need to feel you.” He was babbling but Jesse was locked into this and he knew he couldn’t hold anything back. Gus would sniff out any insincerity.

 

                The vibrator was shut off and removed. Before Jesse could even take a breath, Gus was pushing his way into him, their bodies slick as he pressed against the backs of Jesse’s legs. The tongue licked across his cheek, a mouth folding over his. Jesse gave up any bit of pride he had left, any resistance, as he reached for Gus, their tongues entwined, and the accelerating force of a body pumping into him brought with it a surge of despair. Jesse felt a sense of inexplicable loss as Gus fucked him with a slavish abandon, moans sounding throughout the room while Jesse fell silent.

 

                “Tell me you want me,” Gus hissed as he pistoned his body faster, pounding into him until Jesse felt numb.

 

                “I want you. I want you so badly,” he croaked, knowing this would be the last time he’d ever have to say this, would ever feel Gus like this. And just as suddenly, Jesse choked through a sob, an overwhelming grief crushing him as he saw the end game plainly and clearly. Gus pressed his mouth to his, offering that strange mix of comfort and control, their breaths harsh and panting as they kissed.

 

                “You are my love,” Gus whispered as he pulled away, licking up a tear that had slipped past the blindfold as Jesse continued to weep silently.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

                Mike tossed his keys to the counter as he walked into his kitchen, his side giving him trouble as a collusion of aches kicked in. It had been an exhausting day, and Mike felt a little twinge of distress knowing that he couldn’t keep this up for much longer. It was getting near the time to retire, especially when it came to field work. At least he had Kaylee to look forward to tomorrow, but the unknowing of the rest of it had him on edge. Regardless of which way Jesse’s actions fell, there would be a disaster to contend with and clean up after.

 

                He tucked his hand in his jacket and pulled out his glasses to take a look at his mail. Nothing of note, aside from a few bills, and he cast them back on the formica as he shuffled his way heavily to the fridge. He needed a drink. A half-filled bottle of vodka sat in the back and Mike dragged it out by the neck, picking a glass out of the dish drainer en route to the living room.

 

                For perhaps the hundredth time, Mike considered whether he’d made the right move in aiding Jesse. It was the girl who’d swayed him in the end; her complete loyalty to Jesse and her insistence that he was in major trouble a deciding factor in Mike’s capitulation. She was scared for the kid, her eyes hinting at things she’d seen but was too protective to divulge in any great detail. It finally dawned on Mike that Gus wasn’t going to let the kid go – not alive, at any rate. Whatever Jesse’s level of investment, he knew the kid wouldn’t be able to handle things emotionally; that eventually he’d crawl back to his habit to deaden his feelings. And Gus wouldn’t tolerate that. Mike knew the man too well.

 

                He’d been in a low spot when Gus had first offered him work, subsisting on jobs that were basically gun-for-hire. Mike had been on a mad streak, his drinking out of control, wanting to put aside money for Rhoda and Kaylee and willing to do anything to get it. But one successful engagement with Fring led to another. And another. While Goodman had continued to provide opportunities to do PI work, the real money was coming from Fring’s assignments. By the time Gus had asked him to oversee the hiring of new men for his drug organization, a mutual respect had been established between them, Mike only too willing to work with someone as professional and as careful as Gus after the shit he’d been through. The people that he killed for Fring were drug dealers and mercenaries – scumbags of the highest order that Mike had no compunctions about erasing off the face of the earth. None of it had weighed on his soul until now, seeing his world through Jesse’s very young eyes.

 

                The television came to life as he flicked on the remote, settling back in his lounger to take a long sip of his chilled drink. There had to be more to life than this. He needed to take a vacation, or something. This shit was getting too hard. Mike sighed again. Gus knew everything about him. He’d never see a betrayal coming, which was to their advantage. But Mike didn’t have to feel good about it.

 

                He remembered blowing up at Jesse that first time he’d taken him out for pickups. _You are not the guy_ , he’d bellowed at him, feeling disappointed by Gus’s decision. He’d had a chance to reconsider since then. Jesse had ended up not only being the guy, but had the chance to come out of this whole thing in better shape than all of them. He saw Jesse’s face again, after Mike had tried to get a reaction out of him with the kid who stole his money. _Is this the part where I beg you not to do it? Oh please, oh please._ Those dead eyes that had stared back at Mike devoid of anything that he had come to know as Jesse, daring Mike to put him out of his misery. He would need to be there for the kid after this was all over.

 

                Mike kicked back his lounger and took another long sip, wishing he’d gotten some ice.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

                Jesse stared into the darkness above him, his mind reeling as he twiddled his fingers between the sheets. Gus slept soundly next to him, his breathing deep and slow. Gus had been pretty worn out by the time they were through, and for a brief moment Jesse had prayed once again that Gus would just keel over, his heart finally kaput. But Gus had tended to Jesse, instead, dragging them both to the bathroom to share a cozy bath. Once in bed, he’d rubbed Jesse down, giving him a luxurious and generous massage that only added to Jesse’s feelings of guilt and disgust. At least there was the glimmer of a chance that Gus would sleep through this. If a sedative was off the table, then letting Gus fuck him to the point of exhaustion had been the best option left to him. Jesse would only need a second and a clear shot.

 

                Glancing at Gus one last time, Jesse crept out of bed as quietly as he could. He sucked in a breath as a sharp stab returned in his side and he held himself stiff for a beat. The pain soon passed and Jesse was slipping on the pajama pants at the end of the bed, making his way to the stairs. When he got to the first floor, he moved soundlessly to the alarm system in the foyer, flipping it up to punch in the code he’d seen Gus enter a dozen times. Jesse navigated his way in the dark to the living room and unlocked the back door, casting a longing look to the deck through the glass, wishing Mike or Walter was out there. He didn’t know if he could do this alone.

 

                He padded deftly up the stairs, still silent, but once he reached Victoria’s room, the door gave a faint cry from its hinges as he opened it. Jesse darted a look behind him, freezing up for a moment as he waited breathless for Gus to stir. There was only the sound of the refrigerator’s hum coming from downstairs, and after another second, Jesse continued into her room and strode quickly to the closet. Once the box was back in his hands, Jesse finally let out the breath he’d been holding, clutching it tightly as he crept into the bathroom across from the room. He locked the door behind him before turning on the light but when he saw his face in the mirror, Jesse saw the terror there in his widened eyes. He felt sick. But he had to persevere. He couldn’t make room for doubts when he was so close to the nightmare being over.

 

                His hands shaking, he took the syringe out of the box and held the ampoule up to the light, wondering what substance was actually floating in there, what Walter had finally settled on. It didn’t matter, really, as long as it got the job done, but as he inserted the needle through its top, he had a sudden vision of Jane doing the same, dipping the needle into the blackened spoon getting him ready for a hit. He paused and closed his eyes, plunging into his dreams of her while he willed her memory away. He couldn’t think about any of that now. He pulled back the plunger and watched with a growing determination as the liquid was siphoned from one tube to another. Jesse remembered what Walter had said about the back of Gus’s neck, how he needed to find a place that wouldn’t be checked. He stared at himself in the mirror again, craving a toke of blue to wind him up more than he’d ever needed it before. But he had to stop relying on other forces to build his courage up. He had it in him. Even Gus believed that.

 

                When he stepped back into the bedroom, the moon shone bright through the glass, the blinds up and the curtains whisked aside. Jesse frowned – it hadn’t been this bright in here before.

 

                “Where did you go?” Gus’s voice boomed through the dark and Jesse almost dropped the syringe from between the fingers that rested behind his back, a startled cry absorbed in his throat.

 

                “Oh. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, backing up to the dresser. “I, uh, just went to get some water and something to eat.” The small of his back bumped into the wood, and Jesse opened his fingers as he let the syringe roll from his hand. Gus sat up in bed, his shape amongst the shadows as Jesse could feel those sharp eyes on him even in the dark.

 

                “You are still hungry?” Gus asked incredulously.

 

                “I couldn’t sleep,” Jesse confessed. “I’m still kind of wired after … after everything.” He swooped to the edge of the bed, kneeling on the end of it. “I keep thinking about stuff.”

 

                Gus sighed. “What is concerning you now?”

 

                Jesse crawled closer. “Not concerned. More like, curious. And still … well, I guess I’m still jacked up. I want more,” he said in a raspy voice.

 

                “More what?” He could see Gus’s face under moonlight as the man shifted to lean on his hands, his expression intrigued.

 

                Jesse crawled closer, like a jungle cat ready to pounce, his joints stiff as the mattress sunk underneath his weight. He got near enough to Gus that he could lean in for a kiss, quickly pulling away as Gus tried to chase his lips. “I want more of you. You didn’t let me get to do anything earlier.” And Jesse put out a hand to stroke downward from Gus’s stomach until fingers were curling around a sizably erect cock.

 

                “What do you mean?” Gus spoke into the darkness with a hoarse excitement.

 

                “Just what it sounds like, Gus.” Jesse breathed in deeply as his hand squeezed tighter, sliding up the shaft. “You did everything to me, but I just had to hang there, like some kind of doll. I want to get a turn now. Make you come, until you’re moaning and screaming my name.” He dragged his tongue across Gus’s half-open mouth. “I want to feel what it’s like. To put my tongue in your ass with your legs spread for me.”

 

                “I don’t know,” Gus said, sounding hesitant. He moved suddenly to turn on the bedside light and Jesse got up close, grabbing him by the shoulders so Jesse was all he could see.

 

                “It’s not just that,” he said in a dire tone. “It’s … this is what it’s gonna take. If you were serious about wanting my trust and not just bullshitting me.”

 

                Gus’s expression remained perplexed. “What is it you want?”

 

                “I want to get to tie _you_ up. Restrain you, whatever. With your little funtime tray of goodies in the closet.”

 

                For a split second, Jesse worried that he’d gone too far, Gus’s features hardening to stone. “I do not think this is a good idea,” Gus said.

 

                “Why? I give it up for you. Every time. Even though I’m not like that … I mean, yeah, I dig it, but you got to let me have something, too, you know? I want to feel,” and Jesse felt another swoop of grief as he tried to get the words out, his voice quaking. “I want to feel like we’re together on this. Like … we’re _equals_. Partners. Is that so wrong? If … if you really love me, you’d do anything to make me feel safe, wouldn’t you? To make up for what happened?”

 

                A shard of doubt crept into Gus’s face and Jesse quickly reached out to brush his cheek, stroking it tenderly. “I want to trust you, Gus, I do … but I still feel like you don’t really trust me. I don’t know what else to do. If you could just … _show me,_ it would help _._ Let me be in control this one time, and I’ll believe you. I’ll do anything you say after this, I promise. I just want to,” he breathed into a long sigh. “I just want to make you feel good, too. I don’t have to fuck you if you don’t want that. Just let me, you know, explore you. Under my terms.”

 

Gus’s eyes bore into his as they sat there for what seemed like minutes, his expression impossible to read. Finally, Gus spoke in a grave baritone.

 

                “If I allow this, what, specifically, will you do?”

 

* * *

 

 

                The face before him was so naked in need that, at last, Gus saw the first true spark of reciprocation. This young man, his beautiful experiment, was admitting so much in his request that the pull Gus felt towards him was powerful and profound. Jesse had every right to want some confirmation, and the fact that he was strong enough to ask for it filled Gus with a pride he could barely contain. This had gone beyond even what he and Max had shared, and Gus couldn’t look away from that face, felt his heart beat faster when Jesse pressed a hand to his cheek with such loving devotion.

 

                Jesse sat back on his heels, his eyes glassy but shining brilliantly under the light, the blue of his irises like a color that didn’t seem part of the real world. He brushed a few fingers nervously over the gold chain at his neck, looking so fragile that Gus wanted to scoop him up and hold him in his arms like a child. “Um, like, just keeping it simple, right? Let me strap you to the bed and then I get to do what I want until you come.” His eyes widened as he beseeched Gus. “But I’ll only use my mouth, okay? No whips or anything. This isn’t … this isn’t like payback or nothing. I swear it. It’s just … me feeling like you, I don’t know, respect me or whatever.”

 

                “I do respect you, Jesse.” And in that instant, Gus realized it was true. He had found his champion. There was a resilience and a light in Jesse that he rarely encountered anymore, making him think back to the unlucky prisoners strapped in their binds as he cranked up the charge running through their bodies. So many of them, and so many disappointments, showing Gus how unworthy most humans could be. But Jesse was not like that. Jesse would persevere, always. By the time Gus was finished molding him, the man would be unbreakable, a force that all of Gus’s enemies would kneel before. He made his decision to give the boy this one test of faith.

 

                “All right. I will allow it.”

 

                For a moment, Jesse appeared shocked, as if he’d never expected Gus to say yes. But then the boy’s face crumpled into tears and Gus knew he’d made the right choice. “Really?” Jesse’s voice was thick with emotion.

 

                “I do this for you. And only for you,” he reiterated. “Because I believe in you. Because you are mine.” He gripped Jesse’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. “We will forge a new path together, you and I. You will see.” He leaned over to kiss Jesse, his hands moving behind the boy’s neck to pull him closer. Jesse’s gratitude spilled over into his mouth, holding Gus tightly as their passions wound around each other, Gus’s desire already spiraling beyond his control. The kiss became frenzied, and Gus pushed him back, wanting to be inside him. “I have a few requests as well,” he hissed into Jesse’s ear.

 

                “Yeah, okay,” Jesse said as he leaned his head back so Gus could devour his neck. “Whatever you want.”

 

                Gus sat up on his knees and turned behind him, leaning over to put on his glasses so he could see beyond the foot in front of him. Jesse suddenly put out a hand to stop him.

 

                “Whoa, wait, what do you need those for?”

 

                Gus turned back. “I want to see you in action. Be able to see all of it.” He was getting rather eager to see what Jesse came up with.

 

                Jesse gave him an endearing smile, his eyes still wet and dazzling. “But I like you like this,” he said sweetly. “You look … you know, kind of hot without them.” His grin widened. “For an old guy, anyway,” he teased.

 

                Gus smiled back at him. “Okay, if that is what you want. But you must let me kiss you often.”

 

                “Okay, sure.” Jesse looked behind him. “Um … so … should I just go and get what I need? You-you stay right here, okay?”

 

                “Perhaps I should pick out your instruments for you,” Gus suggested, but Jesse’s eyes went wide again, his mouth hanging open.

 

                “Nah, I got it. I know what I want.” There was a return to a devilish grin, although it seemed slightly off, as if the boy was trying to hide his nerves. “I know exactly what I want to do to you. The things I want to make you feel.”

 

                “I am looking forward to it,” Gus said truthfully. He wanted the boy so much, but feeling his mouth and throat would be just enough to start with. “But you must finish on top of me,” he commanded. “This is my one stipulation. I want to feel you fuck yourself on me when you are done. I want to come inside you.” He had a vision of Jesse outside from the other night, looking like a god as he’d bounced on Gus’s cock with the stars of the night sky like a halo around his head.

 

                “Uh, sure. Yeah, you got it.” Jesse slid off the bed and stood towards the end. “I’m, uh, going to get my stuff, okay? You get undressed and just lay back and wait for me.” His form grew blurrier as it disappeared into the closet, the light switching on inside a bright haze for Gus. He slid off his pajamas and turned around as he lay back on the bed, resting his arms over his head as he fell deep in thought. He had not taken a submissive role since his days in Mamo’s young guard, the few men that he’d allowed to top him no longer breathing air in this life. His mind returned to the events of a few days ago, the rage that had burned him when he’d gone to Jesse’s house now feeling so foreign. The baton an exclamation point on his feelings of betrayal as it came down on Jesse’s body again and again, as he’d beaten the boy within an inch of his life. In light of the growing closeness between them since then, Gus felt an encroaching shame for what he’d done to Jesse. His remorse felt as thick as tar and he wanted to wipe it away, remove the caked-on layers from his heart. What he felt for Jesse would save him. He suddenly knew it to be true, the epiphany filling him with a joy that he’d been missing for too long. Gus recalled Remedios’ questions in her emails from the day before. She had expressed an interest in meeting this person that had her father glowing like a schoolboy in love. Perhaps he would take Jesse to see her after they left Peter. Remedios would find him charming.

 

 

                There was a clang as the trolley was rolled into the room and Gus bent his head up to see Jesse guide it to the end of the bed. He stood there awkwardly for a moment and Gus smiled with ease, wanting the boy to feel his approval.

 

                “I would recommend the chains. It is easier,” he said helpfully. "The cuffs were in the top drawer. Did you find them?”

 

                “Uh, yeah. It’s cool. I found what I was looking for. So … could you turn over?”

 

                Gus didn’t find the suggestion appealing and he shook his head. “No. This is … I want to see your face,” he said gently. There was only so much he could indulge the boy.

 

                “Oh. Okay. Well … hows about you come up here then? Let me tie your legs up the by the pillows and the headboard. So I can, uh … I can be comfortable while I eat you out.”

 

                The sight would be most delicious and Gus quickly relented. “I can do that.” He moved around on the bed and lay back down again, eyeing Jesse as he loomed over him, a leather band in his grip. Gus held up his arm as a show of his support. Jesse went to work, his breathing loud as he snapped Gus’s wrist and dragged up a chain to hook to the eyelet. There was a moment of panic as Jesse locked him to the frame – he was giving a great gift to Jesse in allowing this, but it wasn’t that easy to let go. He had a newfound respect for Jesse as he imagined the fear the boy experienced every time Gus did this to him. By the time Jesse had made his way to the head of the bed, snapping a band around Gus’s ankle, his uneasiness became a pressure on his chest.

 

                “Do you need to do my legs? Surely my arms secured will be enough,” he entreated. Feeling spread-eagled on the bed would be a lot for Gus to absorb.

 

                Jesse paused in his work. “Uh. Well. I … kind of want your legs spread. Like this. It’s pretty hot. I feel like I’m you.”

 

                “Maybe … maybe just one le –” But Jesse had already snapped the chain between wood and restraint, leaving Gus’s leg lifted slightly off the bed. “That is enough, I think.” He wanted Jesse near, wanted to breathe him in. “Come here. Let me kiss you.”

 

                But Jesse didn’t move. He just stood at the top of the bed staring at Gus with eyes as wide as saucers.

 

                “Jesse. Come here, I said.” Jesse looked lost for a moment, as something painful crossed over his face. “I need to tell you something,” Gus tried again, his tone softer.

 

                “What?”

 

                “I want to see you, first,” Gus insisted, fighting his urge to demand that Jesse untie him.

 

                The boy leaned on the bed in slow movements, crawling slowly to Gus like a cat wary of its prey. He got close enough to Gus’s face that he could see Jesse’s determination shining there. “I want you to know,” he began, his affection leaping forward as he held Jesse’s gaze, “that I am very sorry for what happened. I should never have hurt you like that. I should have listened to you, and for that, I apologize. I will treasure you from now on. All that ugliness is behind us, Jesse. You are in my heart. You have touched my soul and I won’t let you go.” He leaned up to press his lips to Jesse’s and the boy held himself still, let Gus try to pry his mouth open with his tongue for a moment before backing away. Gus frowned as he watched the boy’s face turn to one of misery again. “Jesse?”

 

                “I’m so sorry,” the boy said, before standing up and disappearing from sight. Gus tipped his head back, frustrated that he couldn’t move his limbs as he searched for a glimpse of where Jesse had walked off to. He heard him back in the closet, with the sound of a zipper, and then something clinking on the dresser.

 

                “Jesse, what are you doing? I need to see you,” he demanded.

 

                “I need help,” Jesse said, but Gus got the alarming feeling that Jesse was not directing his plea to him. “Yeah. Right now. I don’t know what to do,” the boy continued, and Gus tugged at his chains, twisting his body to see what was happening. Suddenly, Jesse was standing to the side of the bed, his cell phone to his ear as he eyeballed Gus with complete terror, and an arctic chill seized Gus and spread throughout his body. This could not be happening.

 

                “ _Jesse_ ,” he tried again, this time the tone in his voice not fucking around. “What have you done?”

 

* * *

 

 

                Jesse spoke into the phone again, his nerves screaming at him to do something. “I can’t get to his neck, Mr. White. You got to tell me what to do.” Tears were in his eyes again and he hurriedly brushed them away, trying to get his shit together. “Where should I do it?”

 

                Walter was breathless on the other end, like he was running, and then Jesse could faintly hear the turning of an engine roar to life. “What do you mean, you can’t do his neck? Is he not unconscious?!”

 

                “No. He’s awake.” As if to confirm Jesse’s statement, Gus yelled for him again. Jesse jerked closer to the bed as Gus slammed his free leg to the mattress with a loud thump. “Jesse!” he screamed.

 

                “Jesse!” Walter shouted into his ear. “What are you doing? You need to act now!” There was the screech of tires as it sounded like Walter was swerving a corner.

 

                “Where else should I stick him? What’s the best place?” he yelled back into the phone, his nerves now shattered but his adrenaline pushing him to the dresser as he picked up the syringe, running to the bed and climbing on top of a struggling Gus, who bucked under him as Jesse tried to sit on his legs.

 

                “Jesse! Let me go! You will do this now! I don’t want to have to hurt you,” Gus roared. “But I will. I will hurt you very badly!”

 

                “Jesse, what the hell is going on? What’s Gus doing?!” Mr. White and Gus both yelling at him was starting to freak Jesse out, his hands shaking as he held the syringe aloft, out of Gus’s reach. He looked for a spot that he could readily get to without being detected.

 

                “I got a situation here,” he cried. “Just tell me where, so I can go. I need to shut him up.”

 

                “ _What?!”_ A horn blared in the background of Walter’s line and Jesse dropped the phone to the bed for a spell, sliding down his pajama bottoms quickly and stuffing the legs into Gus's mouth, the man's eyes wide open and murderous. Gus tugged the chains so hard the frame rattled and shook, the carabiners in their holes clanging against the wood. Jesse picked up the phone again to hear Walter in mid-blabber, reeling off a location that Jesse didn’t understand.

 

                “What? Should I do it near the groin? Will they look there?”

 

                “No, I said Vine! I’m on Vine! I’m almost there!”

 

                “I don’t got time for this shit, Mr. White! Tell me where to do this!” The needle in his hand shook between his fingers, a drip wavering at the end as he was tousled to and fro from Gus bucking underneath him.

 

                “Are you on top of him?” Walter asked, another horn screaming over his voice. “Try under the arm! Jesse, shoot him near the armpit!”

 

                “I don’t know, Mr. White! I can’t!”

 

                “ _DO IT!!”_ screamed Walter.

 

                “ _AAAAHHHHH!_ ” Gus’s muffled screams ran up through Jesse’s body as he dropped the phone again and pressed down on the sinewy pad of flesh under Gus’s bicep, the muscle feeling hot and rigid as he held the needle near skin. His vision blurred for a moment, a fat tear running down his nose.

 

                “I’m so sorry, Gus,” he whispered again, meaning it as he stuck the thin reed of steel into tissue. Jesse could feel the prick as if it were in his own flesh, the rush as the heroin was propelled into his veins. But he wasn’t giving Gus a sweet high. He almost wished that he was; that he could just help Gus OD like he had with Jane. At least he’d have offered a moment of bliss. He heard a muted, faraway _Jesse!_ from his phone and picked it up, his throat closing over with his remorse, making it hard for him to breathe.

 

                “ _Jesse!_ Are you there?! I’m on his street. Where can I get in?”

 

                “Don’t let anyone see you,” Jesse answered, sounding unlike himself, like his voice was coming from another room. “The back door is unlocked.” His gaze was locked onto Gus’s face, which was slowly turning to a dazed shock. Jesse suddenly pulled the wad of silk free from Gus’s mouth and threw the pajamas to the floor. He put his hands on either side of Gus’s face as the man started to choke, his eyes filled with terror.

 

                “Gus? Gus? Did you hear me? I said I was sorry, alright? I’M SORRY. I’m sorry, _I swear!”_

But Gus was no longer listening. Gus would never hear a word Jesse said again. And Jesse realized that Gus had been right about him. He was a bad person. This was who he was. A murderer. A junkie not to be trusted. His sobs tore through him as he dropped his head forward, Gus’s breathing labored, a wheeze rising from him as his eyes stopped seeing in front of him. There was a widening of the pupils, and for a brief second Gus looked dismayed, like he’d seen something surprising, and Jesse gripped his face tighter, leaning down till their noses were touching. “Gus? Look at me! Tell me you see me!” he pleaded, his sobs growing. He desperately needed to see Gus’s forgiveness there in those eyes. Outside of him, he heard thumping up the stairs, heard his name being called, but Jesse could only stare into Gus’s face, force himself to see the truth of what he’d done.

 

                “Please forgive me,” he begged again. “Please. I’m sorry but I had to. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He kept repeating it, holding on to Gus as he watched the life leave him. This was the only person who had ever believed in him, who hadn’t been too proud to tell him. Who loved him, as he was. And Jesse just killed him. His mind couldn’t even dwell on the torture and the fear of the past. He could only see Gus before him. This wasn’t like Gale. He knew Gus, had _known_ him. Jesse felt torn in two, his grief overriding everything else. He could feel a presence hovering nearby but he couldn’t hear anything.

 

                He could only keep repeating the words until Gus believed him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

               

                Walt stood over Jesse, his mouth hanging open as he stared in utter horror at what the boy had done. Gus’s expression was a rictus of incredulity, the poison having claimed him. He was relieved that it had worked so quickly. He’d made the right choice. Jesse wouldn’t have survived death throes that had gone on any longer. But he didn’t know what to do, as Jesse held on to Gus’s body, begging with anguished pleas for forgiveness as his crying became uncontrollable. He put his hands to Jesse’s shoulders, to make an attempt to pull him away.

 

                “Jesse. Stop. Come on, son, we need to go.” But Jesse ripped his body away from him, dropping to Gus’s chest as his sobs renewed. Walter realized they’d need to act quickly as he eyed Gus’s wrists still in restraints. The blood would pool around any taut bindings. He needed Mike to help them set the body up, make sure that every detail supported the story. “Jesse,” he tried again more forcefully, but the boy was too wrapped up in his remorse. Walter was at a loss. The man had done terrible things to Jesse. Had forced himself on the boy. If anything, Jesse should have been experiencing relief. He turned away from the display of Jesse’s emotions and pulled his phone from his pocket.

 

                “Yeah,” the voice came up instantly.

 

                “Mike. We need you here. There’s … things to be done. I need to get Jesse out of here.”

 

                “You’re with Gus?” There was surprise in his tone.

 

                “Yes, now can you just get here? Jesse turned off the alarm system. Come through the back, I left the door open.”

               

                When he hung up the phone, Jesse was still prostrate over the body, but his sobbing had quieted down to a low moan. “Jesse,” Walter said as he brushed a hand over the back of Jesse’s head. “It’s time to go, son. Why don’t you go downstairs while I … take care of this.”

 

                The boy froze up under his touch. “Is Mike coming?” he heard him ask in a clumped up, nasally voice.

 

                “Yeah. He’s on his way. You can let him in.”

 

                But Jesse sat up and wiped at his nose, snorting in a wadful of snot. “Nah, why don’t you go down there? I’ll deal with this.”

 

                “I – I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He looked around the room, taking in the details of Gus’s life. He felt strange standing there, like an outsider intruding on a couple’s privacy. He watched Jesse lean over and unsnap the leather bind at the man’s wrist, hanging from a chain that looped into a very ornate bed frame. Walter felt another stab of revulsion as he imagined what normally went on here. The man had been a twisted psychopath, and it was good that Jesse was now free of him, even if the boy couldn’t currently see that. "Jesse," he tried again. "You did the right thing. Gus had to go." Jesse froze again for a beat but didn't respond, simply moved on to the other arm.

 

                Just to have something to do, Walter stepped over to the other corner of the bed and began untethering Gus from his bed. He stopped and pulled out the gloves that he’d brought along, covering his hands as he let Jesse deal with the chains. Walter moved to other end to deal with Gus’s ankle, still stymied by the tableaux. How did Jesse even manage to get him like this? What had he promised Gus? There was a slam from the downstairs and he glanced to the doorway, noticing that Jesse’s attention never wavered from Gus. He stopped and hurried over to the door of the bedroom, surprised that Mike had made it over so fast.

 

                “What, were you waiting down the block?” Walt asked as he saw the man’s shadow appear at the foot of the stairs.

 

                “I was close enough,” came the gruff answer. Walter looked back into the room to see Jesse curled around Gus’s body, an image that filled him with offense. The gesture was obscene. Walter didn’t understand Jesse’s reaction, feeling a sense of betrayal as he stared helplessly at the two of them. A knot twisted in his stomach and for a moment he felt jealous, which only further added to his confusion. Why on earth would Jesse care about this monster? They should have been cheering. Ding dong, the terrifying drug lord was dead. The chant bedeviled him as he heard Mike clod up the stairs.

 

               

* * *

 

 

 

                Mike had prepared himself for it, but it was still a shock when he stepped into the room. The kid had actually done it. Gus was gone. Probably not how he expected to go out, either. Mike’s sigh rolled across the room as he bent his hands to his hips, taking in the scene before him.

 

                “Jesus Christ, Walter, you could at least throw a blanket over the kid.” Jesse was still naked as a jaybird, leaning over Gus like a dog that had continued to lie at the feet of his master’s dead body. He glanced at Walter and wondered if they were now the threats, but Walter had jumped into action, pulling a throw off the duvet and dropping it over the boy’s shoulders. Walter tried to pull the kid away, but he was having none of it.

 

                Mike strode up to them, attempting to avoid Gus’s lifeless stare. He rested a hand on Jesse’s back, felt the kid trembling. “Jesse, it’s best if you go downstairs. Let me deal with this, okay? You’ve done your part. I’ll have some questions for you when I’m done.”

 

                “I’m fine,” Jesse said, speaking in a monotone as he sat up. “It’s my mess. I should clean up the body.”

 

                “No, no, no, son. This is not good. You’re not good, right now. Let me take you home. To your own _bed_ ,” Walt insisted. “We’ll take care of this. You need to rest.”

 

                “Gus has some stuff,” the boy continued in his robotic voice, all but ignoring Walt. “A lot of stuff. If anyone finds it, it won’t look too good. He’s got my face … on camera. Doing stuff to me that could be considered cause for motive.”

 

                Mike cleared his throat. “Okay. You want to tell me where he keeps it?”

 

                “I don’t know,” Jesse answered flatly. “But his closet is full of bondage gear, and he’s got more shit downstairs in his gym. There isn’t any … evidence, of like, semen or anything. We took a bath before bed.”

 

                Walter tugged at Jesse’s body, trying to wean him away from the dead man underneath him. “Look, let’s talk about this in the other room, please? Jesse, can you just get o – can – can we go somewhere else? This is … unseemly.”

 

                There was a giggle. Jesse let out a series of them, deep in his throat, his expression manic, reminding Mike of that look on the stairwell while sending a chill down his spine. _I’m supposed to promise, cross my heart to straighten up and fly right or toe the line, or some other crap that I’m not gonna say?_ Walter looked downright disturbed as he held on to Jesse, making him get off the bed. He started to drag him from the room, wrapping the blanket around Jesse’s nudity ever tighter.

 

                “Wait a second.” Mike stopped them midway out of the room. “Jesse, is there anyone else who knows about this? Anyone who might have seen you here? I don’t care if it was the mailman, I need to know who might make a connection.”

 

                “Jesse’s not stupid, Mike. He wouldn’t have been that careless,” Walter hissed at him, but Jesse turned back, his expression still blank.

 

                “Yeah,” he said with eyes all but dead. “Gus’s next door neighbor.” Jesse jutted his chin towards the west, to the wall behind Mike. “Guy by the name of Jerry. He’s seen us together. Knows what’s up.”

 

                “Does this Jerry live alone?” Mike wasn’t about to leave any witnesses.

 

                “No. Got a wife and kids. But he’s home during the day while they’re out. Easy pickings. He’s got a pool room downstairs. You’ll probably find the creep down there jacking off to gay porn.”

 

                Mike made a sucking sound in his teeth. “Fine. Walter, get some clothes on the kid and take him out the back way. I might be here a while.” He glanced back to Jesse staring at the bed and the still form of Gus Fring. “I suggest you watch him for the rest of the night. Don’t let him out of your sight.”

 

                “I don’t want to go home,” Jesse said in a strong voice. “I want to go to Andrea’s.”

 

                Walter looked hurt at the news and Mike felt a small moment of satisfaction at the snub. He may have agreed to work with the man, but that didn’t mean he had to like him. Maybe the kid was finally wising up. He waved a hand to Walter.

 

                “Well, you heard him. Now go. I’ve got to make a sweep.”

 

                “I need my gun,” Jesse blurted out. “It’s in Victoria’s room.”

 

                Mike made another flamboyant wave towards the doorway, urging them both to leave, and Jesse finally let Walter herd him off.

 

                When they were gone, he looked back at Gus’s body with a heavy sigh. Gus had been a good employer, although Mike would never have considered him a friend. But in some ways, that relationship had meant more than a personal one. He looked over the man’s nakedness. An undignified end to a man of great caliber, Mike felt. But this was the life Gus had chosen for himself. Drug dealers and murderers didn’t get to have happy endings. He glanced behind him to where Walt and Jesse had exited, hoping the rules would bend for one of them, at least.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Epilogue -  
_

                Walter waited impatiently on the lab’s phone for someone to pick up as it droned on. He was in between mixings, but it was important he try again. It had been weeks. Surely the boy was back in town by now. He gritted his teeth as he listened to it ring again, his blood pressure rising, but then finally someone answered.

 

                “Yes, Walter.”

 

                “Andrea! Hello!” he said cheerily, as he wrung his hands, his aspirator sitting atop his head. “This means you’re back then. I just had to check before I left for the day. So … is he in?”

 

                “Sorry, Walter, he had to make another trip. I got back last night, but Jesse had a meeting to attend to with Schuler’s men. He and Mike will be back by the weekend, though. I’ll let him know you called.” She sounded like she was about to hang up but Walter pressed on.

 

                “Hey, it’s just that … it’s been a while since I last spoke to him. It’s … it’s important that I talk to Jesse. This latest order … it’s a lot for one person. And uh, well, I think Jesse should find some time in his schedule to … help out down here. I mean, two or three shifts would make all the difference.”

 

                “Well, you know he’s trying to find an assistant for you, Walter. That was part of the agenda while we were in Caracas.”

 

                “Sure, but that might take a while. Meanwhile, we have a perfectly good cook that could be down here getting the product ready, instead of jetting to who knows where every other day. I mean, does he not understand the pressure down here to meet the supply demand?”

 

                “I’m sure he does, Walter. He was doing it by himself for a few months after you left, remember? It’s not like you have to do the cleaning or the crunching and weighing anymore. And I really don’t think it’s going to take that long to find a replacement. We’re just looking for someone who speaks English.”

 

                Walter grimaced into the phone, his frustration soaring. He was tired of Andrea playing the buffer between him and Jesse. He needed to see the boy, to talk to him and make him see reason. He wanted his partner back. “Look, I understand that he has a lot on his plate right now, what with Fring’s restaurant and the German people beckoning him every few weeks, but if I could just … it would just be good to hear some news from Jesse himself, okay? Tell you what – when he’s back, why don’t you and Jesse come over to my place for dinner? Bring the boy, too. My wife and I would love to have you.”

 

                There was a sharp laugh on the other end. “I don’t know about that, Walter. Your wife doesn’t exactly care for Jesse. I think we would make her nervous, being in her house. Besides, as soon as he’s back, we already have plans for dinner over at his folk’s.”

 

                “Oh. Oh, I see,” he said, not bothering to hide his disappointment.

 

                “Look, Jesse really is trying to find someone for you. It’s his top priority. Between Mike taking him around to all the people he needs to meet, to things going on over here at the restaurant … I mean, records were kept flawlessly, but still, Goodman’s keeping busy with all the lawyers. Jesse’s been dealing with all of the auditing in the wake of Fring’s passing and he’s got restaurant managers calling him all day and night. It’s a little chaotic up here. Just give him a little time to get things settled.”

 

                “Well, can’t Mike handle some of these meetings without Jesse? I’m working overtime as it is. Jesse would really be a big help if he were to come down for even one day out of the week.”

 

                “It’s not going to happen, Walter,” Andrea shot off, her annoyance creeping in. “Isn’t this how it was supposed to work in the beginning, anyway?”

 

                Walter shook his head, confused. “What – what do you mean? In the beginning of what?”

 

                “When you started this with him,” she clarified. “He told me all about it. The division of labor. You cook, he sells. He’s holding up to his end of the deal. It’s just on a larger scale.”

 

                “But I don’t – I – uh, this isn’t what … when’s Mike going to be available? Maybe I should be talking to him?”

 

                “You’ve got his cell number, don’t you?” Walter glared up at the camera, even though he knew it was no longer functioning, it’s body silent and still.

 

                “ _Yes_ , I have his cell number. But he’s wherever Jesse is, and hasn’t returned my calls.”

 

                It was quiet for a beat. “Tell you what, Walt. As soon as Jesse’s back, I’ll have him make plans to meet you somewhere. Maybe you two can go out to dinner, catch up on business, or old times, or whatever. Would that be acceptable?”

 

                “Yes. Yes, that is _exactly_ what I have been asking for. I just really need to see him. To spend some time with him.” Walt hesitated, wanting to say more, but knowing it was futile. Once he had Jesse in front of him, it would be another story. Jesse understood him. “I … I worry about him.”

 

               

                Andrea’s tone softened. “You don’t have to worry, Walter. He’s doing okay. Really. He’s … he’s much better now. We take care of him.” There was a pause and Walter heard a rustle of papers. “Now, if you don’t mind, Walter, I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on. Cynthia and I have a ton of stuff to go over. So … I’ll tell Jesse you called again, okay?”

 

                “Yes, uh, fine. Just make sure you tell hi –” The phone went dead in his ear. Walter slammed it into its cradle, hearing the buzzer go off behind him.

 

* * *

 

 

               

                Andrea’s cell vibrated in her pocket as she went through Fring’s books. She saw Jesse’s name on the screen and smiled, feeling a warm flush to

her skin.

 

                “Hi, baby. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you till later. Where are you?”

 

                “Hey, hon. I really needed to hear your voice. I’m still in Houston, but I’m getting on a plane in a few hours. We got done early. One of their guys didn’t show.”

 

                “Is that a problem?” she asked, trying not to sound worried. It was one thing playing translator for Jesse in Venezuela, it was quite another getting a rundown of all the parties they were dealing with and their roles in Fring’s organization, a side of the business that Jesse kept away from her, insisting her focus stay on the restaurants. But she knew the transition hadn’t been seamless. Meeting with Fring’s daughter had been a good move. She was backing Jesse in the states, appointing him as her stead to take charge of the fast food operation. He was leaning on Andrea to help him navigate the daily operations of dealing with fourteen restaurants, and she was only too thrilled to jump in.

 

                “Nah, it’s cool. Mike talked to Lydia about it. She’s kind of high strung, but she knows what she’s doing. She says they wanted to cut him loose anyway, says he was too loyal to Gus. I guess not everybody buys my sudden ascension as Gus’s guy. There’s still a lot of trash talk and bullshit, but we expected that. Our friends in Venezuela are coming out for a visit to get a look at the operation in a couple of weeks. I’m gonna need you by my side.”

 

                “Of course, hon, whatever you need.” It had been exhilarating going out to meet them in Caracas. The men were charming to her, but it had been hard for them to keep their eyes off of Jesse. They weren’t dumb enough to speak about him in their native language, assessing her the moment she walked in clinging to Jesse’s arm, but she could tell they were curious about her importance to him and couldn't help wondering what they were like with him when she wasn't around.

 

                “I’ve got Gus’s daughter coming down before that, though,” he continued. “I’m going to need you to go with her to all of the Los Pollos locations, go over all the reports. She knows her dad was dirty, but he never told her the details. I think she wants to keep it that way, but we've got to track the money for her. Mike’s got Fring’s lawyer meeting with us, too. Gus left her practically everything; the house, the business, with something left over for the one that stopped talking to him. You know, having her back me goes a long way to me being legit.”

 

                “I know that, babe. You don’t need to explain.” She had liked Remedios right away. “I’m sure it helps that she’s got a little crush on you,” she grinned into the phone, not soon forgetting how the woman had fawned over Jesse.

 

                “Hardly. She’s a good person, though. I know Gus thought the world of her. She, uh … I guess he must have said something to her about me.” He paused. “I thought we could have her at the house. You know, show her what a great cook you are. Take her around the city. That kind of stuff.”

 

                “That sounds great,” she said, her thoughts turning back to Walt’s phone call. “Maybe we could …” She bit her lip, knowing she shouldn’t feel sorry for the guy after all the things Jesse had told her. “Maybe invite your partner? Walt called again, wanting to talk to you.” It was quiet on the other end. “How long do you think you can avoid him? You should throw the poor guy a bone.”

 

                There was a long sigh on the other end. “I don’t know, hon. I’m … I’m so busy. I got everybody up in my shit, testing me. Walt can be … it’s just hard.”              

 

                “I know, Jesse. Just think about it, okay? You want to keep the talent happy.” She swung her seat side to side, liking the feel of its tall cushioned back, the heavy desk in front of her feeling like where she was meant to be. “I’m really excited to meet your parents,” she offered, hoping to change the subject. “It’ll be sweet to have Brock meet your brother finally. He’s nervous about it, but I told him Jake was super smart and cool, just like you.”

 

                Jesse laughed. “Yeah, well, don’t get your expectations too high. My mom may have come around, but my old man, he’s still a drag. He’ll probably grill you on your entire family’s history. Just play the whole pulled-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps shit and he’ll think you’re the bomb. At least he respects people who work hard.”

 

                “Well, you work hard, too, Jesse. Look at you now. You’re practically running a company. Your dad should be proud of you.”

 

                It went quiet again. “Hello?” she said into the long silence.

 

                “Naw. There’s nothing to be proud of,” Jesse said, his voice raspy. “Look, I gotta go, babe. Mike’s waving me over. I’ll probably be home pretty late. I’ll try not to wake you up, okay? See you soon.”

 

                The phone clicked as he hung up and Andrea tried not to worry again, as she put down her phone, always fearful that his depression would return. She recalled his face that night he’d shown up on her doorstep, the night he killed Gus, and a shiver ran through her. It was like he’d been erased somehow, blasted apart with only his haunted eyes to let her know that Jesse was still in there somewhere. It had taken days for him to have a normal conversation beyond a sentence or two. She had accompanied Jesse and Mike to Gus’s funeral. It had been a huge affair, with half the police force coming out to pay their respects. One of the agents there kept eyeballing them throughout the entire service, and it was only later that Jesse identified him as Walter’s brother-in-law. He didn’t seem too concerned about the man, however, and Andrea didn’t think about him again.

 

                Jesse had changed, she understood that much. He was harder, more guarded, although Brock could always get him to smile. There were still times that Andrea got a glimpse of the wounded parts of Jesse, when he was too tired to hide them from her, but those moments were fewer and far between. Andrea knew that he needed her and she held on to that idea, kept it close to her heart. She loved Jesse, and she loved being in his house, loved feeling like she was part of a family – his family. Even her grandmother had finally changed her opinion of him, now taking to teasing him in Spanish every time she saw him, pinching his cheeks, bringing him special treats whenever she came over. Things were only getting better for them, and even though she knew there was a darkness in Jesse, one that she could touch only when they were alone behind their bedroom door or down in the basement, a coldness in his eyes as he trussed her up in the ropes that she craved, his hands unyielding as he bruised her body, she knew that he needed it as much as she did, that they were united in this aspect of their personalities. They belonged together. Andrea would do whatever she had to in order to keep Jesse safe. Safe from the outside world, but more importantly she needed to keep him safe from himself.

 

                The phone on the desk rang and snapped Andrea out of her thoughts. “Yes?” she asked into the receiver as the light from the kitchen line blinked.

 

                 “Andrea, we could use some help at the front of house,” Cynthia said in her nasally tone.

 

                “Sure thing. I’ll be right up.”

 

                Andrea took a last look at the camera feed being broadcast from the laptop on her desk. Walter was seated at the work table with a pencil pointed up by his ear, a hand over his mouth as he mulled over the figures on the clipboard in front of him. She knew he’d be there for another couple of hours, even after the batch was put away to harden. He practically lived down there. She shut off the feed and hurried out of the office. The dining room was crowded. Business was good. She’d be sure to bring Brock home some chicken tonight. She was too tired to cook.

 

* * *

 

 

                Jesse snapped his phone shut and slipped it in his pocket, dropping his cigarette to the asphalt so he could crush it underfoot. He turned to head back into the restaurant, where Mike was waiting for him in a booth in the back. Negotiations had gone well in Caracas, Schuler was pleased with him back in Hanover, and by all accounts, the police were not looking at him suspiciously for any wrongdoing in Gus’s death. The autopsy had been cleared, Gus had been buried, life went on. Mike ran their crews and Jesse ran the business, the sheer size of it not deterring him from stepping into Gus’s shoes. It had been a surprise to him more than anyone that he’d had a knack for this. Every day he’d hear Gus’s voice, at one point or another, telling him what he needed to hear. _You can do this._

 

                He sat back down in the booth to find his food waiting for him and he pulled his silverware from his napkin, ready to chow down.

 

                “How’s Andrea?” Mike asked.

 

                “She’s good,” he replied. “I told her to get ready for company. My girl is set.”

 

                “I’m sure she is,” Mike commented. “You picked a good woman. Smart.” He picked up his coffee, still thinking it over. “She’s good for you.”

 

                “I guess.” Jesse didn’t want to talk about relationships. He dug into his steak with gusto, feeling ravenous.

 

                “Schuler was impressed with you, I think,” Mike continued. “He liked your idea for expansion. Replicating Walt’s cook with your training program. I think he’s willing to invest in it.” He smirked. “I don’t know when you suddenly became a connoisseur of wines, but your bit about the grapes sure got his attention. I’d say from the look on his face, he appreciated your selection.”

 

                “Just something Gus told me once,” Jesse said, absentmindedly stroking a finger over the chain at his neck. “Hey, uh … Walter’s been asking for me again. Andrea wants me to invite him to dinner.”

 

                Mike studied him as he set down his cup. “Yeah? And? You planning on following through?”

 

                “I don’t know,” Jesse admitted, courting the older man’s advice. “Do you think I should?”

 

                “I think you can make those decisions for yourself, Jesse. You know what you’re doing. Do you want to see him or not?”

 

                Jesse took a moment to answer, smearing his piece of steak in some sauce on the edge of his plate. “Maybe,” he said before putting his fork to his mouth. He chewed with relish, his teeth grinding through the meat with determination as his gaze stayed on his food. “Maybe not.”

 

                “Well, that settles that then,” Mike said with a wry note.

 

                They finished eating in silence, Jesse devouring everything on his plate and finishing dinner off with a piece of pie and ice cream. He hadn’t eaten anything for the last two days and his stomach gurgled gratefully as his food digested. Mike left a big tip when they were done, and Jesse made a trip to the bathroom before they left.

 

                Later, on the plane, as Mike snored next to him, the cabin mostly dark except for a few passenger lights and the strip that ran up the walkway, Jesse stared out into the night, watching the blinking lights on the wing as they cut through the clouds. He remembered that Gus had wanted to travel with him, to show him the world he'd said, and in the last month, Jesse had already been on three continents. He smiled into the glass, seeing his reflection and wondering what Gus would think of that. He knew it wasn’t good to think about Gus. He rarely slept through the night, the man still preying on his dreams, but he couldn’t help himself sometimes during his waking hours. He imagined that Walter wouldn’t approve of these reminisces. Walter was convinced that there was something wrong with Jesse. He had seen it in his former teacher’s eyes. It felt awkward when Walter had tried to play therapist to him, as if he cared about Jesse’s well being and wasn’t simply pleased to have Gus out of the way. He missed Walter’s company, though, on some occasions. But something told him to stay away. Jesse felt different, older. He didn’t trust his partner anymore. He didn’t really trust anyone, not even Mike. Not even Andrea. He cared for her. Maybe even loved her. But it was best not to let people get inside of him, to cause damage to those tender places, their concern like a knife slashing at his organs. It was a lot easier when he just pretended.

 

                Jesse pressed his forehead to the glass, now fixated on the flashing lights. It felt cool on his skin, the rush of blackness somehow comforting. He remembered telling Walter once that he was the bad guy, and he supposed that was still true. They were all bad guys, but Jesse didn’t know if it mattered anymore. He was good at what he was doing, and it gave him some purpose. And Jesse had decided that that was the best he could hope for.

 

                Slowly, he slid the blind down, covering up the black void outside of his window. He would be home soon with Andrea waiting for him in bed. His mind drifted to the trinket wrapped in his suitcase that he’d brought from the sex shop in Berlin. He hadn’t even flinched when the guards took it out for inspection as he went through customs. Perhaps this would be a good weekend for Brock to spend at his grandmother’s, while he kept Andrea down in her special room in the basement.

 

                Gus would surely approve.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this late, so I might come back to add some links later. I want to thank all of you for continuing to read the story, and for all of your wonderful comments that kept me going. I also want to give my thanks for the milestone of this fic passing over 10,000 hits. Knowing that this was not a pairing that held a lot of interest, and also the intense subject matter automatically turning a lot of people away, I'm still dismayed at the support and following this story gained over the year it took me to write it. I really appreciate all of you who were so kind to share your thoughts, and especially those of you who started with me at the beginning. I never expected this story to get so long, but it felt incredibly gratifying reaching the end.
> 
> I plan to resume the other Jesse fic I left dangling many months back, but I'll be taking a little time off before returning to it. I think Gus left quite an impression on me, ha ha. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you all again. It's been quite a ride.
> 
> ETA - some links to Chile's history under Pinochet's power:  
> http://www.remember-chile.org.uk/beginners/contdina.htm
> 
> http://www.aljazeera.com/programmes/aljazeeracorrespondent/2013/10/tales-torture-2013103081121394171.html
> 
> http://fas.org/irp/world/chile/dina.htm
> 
> http://www.digitaljournal.com/article/326600
> 
> Villa Grimaldi, a truly vile place - http://thelegacyproject.com/acmatta.html 
> 
> There's been a lot of good discussion on the 'net about Gus Fring's past since season four aired, and these were a couple of links that informed my interest in Gus's backstory. I still hope to see Gus show up on BCS, but considering that Saul never actually met the man, I feel chances are slim. And certainly it is doubtful we would get a thick slab of Gus's past in Chile, although you never know. I do think leaving it alone is not bad. Keeping Gus in a shroud of mystery that defines him in many ways.
> 
> https://1630revellodrive.wordpress.com/2012/06/25/gustavo-fring-mystery-man-of-chile/
> 
> http://spydistrict.com/2013/08/the-intriguing-german-connections-in-breaking-bad/
> 
> There is a very good movie that came out a few years back called 'No', starring Gael Garcia Bernal as an ad man that helped create a television campaign to encourage citizens to vote Pinochet out of office in 1988, when he ran unopposed. While not a hundred percent accurate, it's still a great look at the country at that time, with some engaging performances and a clever script. http://www.takepart.com/article/2013/06/25/pinochet-miracle-chile-said-no-to-brutal-dictator
> 
> Some references in the story came from my personal inspirations, namely Gus's family.  
> Gus's father, Alejandro, so named for Alejandro Jodorowky, the surreal Chilean director of The Holy Mountain and El Topo.  
> Gus's daughters - Remedios named after one of my favorite artists, the Spanish surrealist painter Remedios Varo (are you detecting a theme yet?). And Victoria was named for Victoria Abril, a brilliant actress who was once a staple of early Pedro Almodovar films, one of my all time favorite directors. She starred in 'Atame!' (Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down) with Antonio Banderas, my first Alomodovar. Go watch it. It's so twisted but I love it. 
> 
>  
> 
> The research for this story was fascinating, mostly horrifying, and made it all the more satisfying fleshing out Gus's past.


End file.
